The Sunday Strangler
by Mele
Summary: An Alternate Universe version of how Jim and Blair met.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** Oh, gee…the usual. They aren't mine, I'm not making any money off them. Just having a little fun._

 _ **Notes, timeline, etc:** This is an AU, as will be obvious very quickly. Set before the start of the series, you could consider this an alternate pilot episode. Pointless exercise? Perhaps. But fun._

 _ **Rating, warning** : Strong PG (borderline R?) for language and violence, otherwise no warnings._

 **The Sunday Strangler**

By Mele

Being summoned out on a case on Sunday wasn't that unusual for Jim Ellison. Being called out on a case to the local landfill at six thirty in the morning on Sunday was. The dump was only open from noon to three on Sundays, rather than the normal seven thirty to three thirty the rest of the week, though the reason for the shortened Sunday hours was something Cascade's most successful detective had not spent any time considering. It had simply always been that way, ever since he could remember.

So it was odd to see a crowd of people standing around the silent bulk of the Cat D8, which was parked by the edge of the dumpsite currently being used. On closer inspection he recognized a couple of uniforms that worked the night shift, a tense looking representative from the city council, Simon Banks, Henri Brown and Homicide detective Jasper McConnel. The forensics wagon was parked just beyond the bulldozer, discreetly hidden from public view just in case anyone wandering by should notice. With a sigh of resignation Jim got out of his truck and joined them.

"Ah, good Jim. We had forensics hold back until you got a chance to look the scene over. It's councilwoman Gayle Meadows. Same as the others; strangled with a fluorescent shoelace-pink this time," Simon informed him.

"Who found her? I didn't think anyone worked here on Sunday mornings."

"Equipment operator found the body, he was pulling some recyclable boxes out, or so he says, and uncovered her. He called us as soon as he finished losing his breakfast," Henri couldn't resist a small smile as he reported that.

"About time you showed up, Ellison. Thought you were supposed to be the lead on this investigation," Jasper taunted him, his nasal twang leaden with barely concealed contempt.

"Brown, would you mind moving everyone back, and make sure the equipment operator stays around, I want to talk to him," Jim requested, ignoring McConnel as he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. "Let's see if our guy got sloppy this time."

Ms. Meadows was the third victim of the killer the press had dubbed the Sunday Strangler after the second victim, Councilman George Criss, had been found a week before at Kyle's Gym. The first victim, Councilman William Bryant, had been discovered in the Cascade Museum of Natural Science the week before that. No clues had been found, not a single trace of anything that could be linked back to the murderer. The only similarities were the use of a brightly colored shoelace tied around the victim's throat, and the leaving of the corpse in a business to be found on Sunday.

The actual day of the kidnappings had been different in each case, and after Criss's death all the council members had been placed under unobtrusive surveillance for their own protection, not that it had done Gayle Meadows much good. She'd disappeared on Tuesday, after her guards had lost her in a crowd leaving a busy theater.

Ellison carefully sifted through the debris the corpse was lying on, doing his best to ignore the almost overpowering stench of the scene. Ever since he'd taken his last vacation he'd had problems with spells of seeming hypersensitivity to his surroundings. Sometimes it was lights that were too bright, or noises that were too loud. Today it appeared it was smells that were too powerful, and he figured it had to be just him since no one else was apparently affected by the odors.

Finally rising from his futile examination, he gave the scene one final sweeping look then turned to his captain with a resigned frown. "I can't see anything that could help us, but we should have forensics tag and bag everything directly underneath the body just in case. Why don't you oversee that, McConnel? Brown will assist you. I'm going to talk to our witness."

"He's hardly a witness, Ellison. He just stumbled on the body. We should count ourselves lucky he didn't puke all over her. You won't get anything useful there," the Homicide detective sneered.

Brown snorted softly to himself, and stepped back, ready for the famous Ellison temper to erupt and not anxious to get caught in the fallout. But the former covert ops ranger surprised him and simply stared at the other detective until McConnel wilted under his laser-like glare and turned to signal forensics to approach. Content that he'd put the other man in his place, Jim turned away and walked over to where the young 'dozer operator stood leaning against one massive track watching the activity with a keen interest. Long, curly chestnut hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail at his neck, and the arms and legs of the stained coveralls were rolled up to accommodate his shorter stature.

"Hey, Chief, why don't you come on over here, I want to ask you a few questions," Jim instructed, ushering the smaller man to the far side of the machinery.

"Sure, sure man. Whatever I can do to help. I can't believe it, you know? I mean, I pull off a box, and there she is. Oh, man, I'm gonna be seeing that in my dreams for weeks, you know? I don't even want to think what it's going to do to my karma, my mom is going to freak when she finds out. She thinks even being around violence after the fact can damage your karma, and I so don't think that poor woman's death was nonviolent. I mean, it sure looked plenty violent to me. What did you need to ask me?" he asked at last, bouncing a bit with his hands deep in his jeans' pockets.

"How about we start with your name?" Ellison asked crisply, wondering what sort of breakfast 'pick-me-up' this kid had had, and if a urine test might be in order.

"Oh! Blair. Blair Sandburg. Nice to meet you. Well not nice, exactly, what with the dead body and all, but…" he slowly dropped the hand he'd extended to the detective, seeing the other man had no intention of shaking it.

"And what were you doing here at the dump at this time of the morning?" Jim asked, his cold gaze firmly pinning the young man in place.

"I work here, man. It's my job. Look, Sunday morning is the only stretch of time we have when there's no customers here, you know? It's the time we do most of the weekly clean up. I like to get in as soon as the sun is up, so I have as much time as possible to get stuff done before people start bringing more trash in. Plus, it gives me time to do some more of the recycling stuff, like picking out the cleaner cardboard, any cans or bottles, that sort of stuff. The other guys, they think I'm nuts, but man, we've all got to do our bit to preserve the land. And everyone benefits! Less trash buried here, I feel better for helping, and the boss, he gets more income from the recycling programs. We all win. So, I'm always here early on Sunday." Blair stopped for breath and looked up at the detective with a slight smile.

"I get a little enthused," he explained sheepishly.

"I can see that, Chief. Did you see anything that might indicate who left the body here? Or when? Were you working here last night, yesterday afternoon?"

"Yeah. I mean…yeah, I was working, but no, I didn't see anything. I was running the loader, bringing fresh fill over for this morning. Saw the usual busy spurt right before closing, but I can tell you, she wasn't here last night. I should have known something was wrong, 'cause I did the box patrol thing last night. No way I would have missed those boxes," the young man's voice slowed, his tone becoming pensive. "I had a meeting to attend yesterday, so I didn't start the processing like I usually do. But, I had enough time to scout out the good stuff and set it aside. Those boxes were obviously good, and they weren't there yesterday afternoon," he concluded.

Ellison stepped back away from the bulldozer, calling over to Brown. "H! Make sure they get those boxes, okay? All of them. Pay special attention to those, they may have come with the body." He stepped back over to where Sandburg was leaning once again against the equipment, his arms protectively over his chest as if he were cold.

"You okay there, Chief?" he queried, realizing the man might becoming down from his adrenalin rush.

Before Blair could reply a loud clanging sound reverberated over the scene, causing Jim to clap his hands over his ears with an expression of pain. Ignoring the shouts to 'be more careful' coming from the crime scene, Sandburg turned his attention to the big detective, laying a solicitous hand on the rigidly muscled arm.

"Hey. Hey, man, you all right? Come on, man, it's okay, I'll get you some help, just hang on," Blair assured him, turning to go fetch one of the other officers, but his progress was stopped by a large hand clamping down on his arm painfully.

"No. I'm fine. It's fine. Just give me a minute," the larger man ground out, still visibly struggling to get the pain under control.

"You sure? What happened? I mean, that was loud, but not THAT loud," Sandburg asked anxiously.

"My ears are a little sensitive, that's all. What the hell happened over there?"

"One of your guys knocked over a barrel on top of one of the mounds. It rolled into another couple. They're empty, and…well…loud when they hit each other. Happens often enough around here. You sure you're okay? You looked like you were in some serious pain there."

"I'm fine, thanks," Ellison replied more warmly than he'd spoken yet to the younger man. There was no mistaking Sandburg's sincere concern, and strangely enough, the pounding, blinding headache which usually followed an episode like that did not appear to be forthcoming.

"Good. That's good. Um…if you don't need me anymore, can I go? It's been kind of a bad day already and it's not even eight yet. I'm thinking some tea, maybe some meditation; I need to process this, you know? Try to salvage the rest of the day, since it doesn't look like I'll be working for a while," Blair looked up at Jim hopefully.

"As long as we have your name and address, you can take off. But don't be planning any extended vacations for the near future, got it?"

"Got it. No vacation. I can do that. And, really, man, whatever I can do to help, I'll do. Just call me." He turned to walk away, then stopped and looked at Jim once more. "What was your name, again? I don't remember."

"I never told you, Chief," the big man replied dryly.

"Oh." Blair waited a beat, then turned away again.

"Ellison. Jim Ellison, Major Crime, Cascade PD. You should have asked before you even talked to me, Mr. Sandburg."

The long-haired man turned back with a rueful half grin. "Tell you what. Next time I uncover a dead body before the day's even decently begun, I'll remember that. I never was good at crime scene etiquette, you know? It was a unique experience meeting you, man." He raised one hand in farewell as he walked past the front of the bulldozer and headed toward a recent arrival.

Ellison recognized Sandburg's target as Blaine Knight, the owner/supervisor of the landfill, which made him Sandburg's boss and the next person on Jim's 'need to interview' list. He followed Blair at a slight distance, arriving in time to hear Knight's reply to the young man's request to take the day off.

"Of course you can go, Blair. Take the whole day, Jesus can run the Cat today, he owes back some hours anyway. I don't want to see you back here until tomorrow, got it?" Knight had the reputation of being a hard-assed boss, fair but not willing to put up with any nonsense, but it was obvious he was fond of this rather unconventional looking young man.

"Thanks, Boss. I'll make up the hours next week."

"Blair, you are not in arrears for hours. WE owe YOU hours, don't worry about it. Now get going before I change my mind," the older man growled, bringing a smile to Sandburg's face.

"Gotcha. Going. See you tomorrow."

Blaine watched his employee walk off, a half smile of bemusement on his face, before turning to address the approaching detective.

"Jimmy Ellison, it's been too long. Hell of a reason to meet you again, but it's good to see you've been taking care of yourself."

"It's good to see you again, too, Mr. Knight," Ellison replied formally.

"Jim, you aren't ten any more. And while I'm still one of your father's friends, I think we've reached the stage in life where you can call me 'Blaine', wouldn't you agree?"

"Okay, Blaine, then." Jim indicated the departing Sandburg with a lift of his chin. "How'd you end up with that kid? What can you tell me about him?"

"Blair? He's a good kid, Jimmy. Damndest thing. Month or so ago, I lost my head equipment operator. Car accident; tragic thing. Then two days later, the flu hits, and I have three guys call in too sick to even get out of bed. I'm desperate, and this kid shows up looking for a job. Some sob story about how he was supposed to go on some excursion…excavation…whatever in Africa. Guess it got cancelled at the last minute, and he's without a summer job. He's a student at Rainer, grad student, so he says. What the hell, I'm in a real pinch, so I put him on the pickup run with Rudy. Oldest guy on the crew, eats rookies for lunch. I figured at least I'd get through that day, and I could call in some new recruits later. Damned if by the time Rudy gets back to the yard with the kid they aren't yucking it up like lifelong buddies. Kid's been here ever since, and if I could clone him I'd do it in a heartbeat. During the week he takes the trash runs, and I never hear a complaint from anyone on his route. Weekends he runs the equipment, and he's good. AND he treats the equipment good. Repair bills are way down. And quite frankly, the little shit can WORK. Hell, at time and a half he's underpaid. I'm going to hate to lose him at summer's end, I got to tell you. He's a good kid, Jimmy." Knight flushed a little at his own verbosity, but his eyes shone with sincerity.

"I hope for his sake, he is. I need a list of everyone who has keys to the dump, Blaine. Names and addresses of all current and former employees; especially any who left under adverse conditions," Jim halted as Knight held up his hand.

"Anything you need, you get. But let me call in Sue, she's my office manager. She'd have all that information, and she's the type who'll be willing to come in right away. Plus, I think she documents all the circumstances of anyone leaving us. It'd be at the main office, over on Cyprus. Want to meet me there?" the older man offered.

"Sounds good. Let me check in with the other investigators, then I'll be there," Ellison agreed, shaking the proffered hand firmly, remembering his snub of Sandburg's attempt to shake hands with a twinge of shame.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

By Tuesday the team investigating the so-called Sunday Strangler had come to the conclusion that the investigation following Gayle Meadow's murder was a wash out. The boxes and other debris around the body came out clean. Investigations into employees, past and present, at the landfill were dead-ends; in some cases literally. Security around the surviving council members had intensified to the point they were quietly complaining, even though they understood the necessity.

Even so, at precisely four minutes past three on Tuesday afternoon, Councilwoman Antoinette Pinero disappeared from her secluded home in Cascade's best neighborhood. The two officers who had been assigned to guard her were found dead in the basement, each from a single gunshot to the back of their head. Consequently emotions were running high at the police department, and the repercussions from this most recent event were felt in at every level of the city's political hierarchy, from the mayor on down.

Thursday, with time running out, the detectives were reduced to revisiting leads already explored in detail previously, in desperate hope of uncovering some slight lead to where the killer might be depositing his victim the next Sunday. Hope of finding Mrs. Pinero alive had waned, since it had been determined by forensics that the previous victims had all been killed within 36 hours of being abducted.

Jim found himself standing in the parking lot of a seemingly deserted warehouse, looking at the slip of paper in his hand with a slightly bemused expression. He checked the numbers over the door again, and though the '4' was leaning tipsily against the '7' and the five was hanging upside down, there was still no question that this was the right address. Shaking his head slightly he mounted the metal steps and pressed the buzzer beside the door, rewarded in a moment by a rich voice bidding him enter.

The cavernous warehouse was filled with ear pounding sound, a combination of drums and oddly sensuous horns, bringing to mind open fields fringed with green trees and thick foliage. 'Jungle music' was Ellison's unvoiced opinion as he strode briskly to the living area, which was separated from the rest of the warehouse by a high stack of pallets doing duty as a makeshift wall.

Blair Sandburg was stirring something in a dented stainless steel pot on a small hotplate, his compact body gyrating lithely to the driving beat of the music. "Hey, man, I wasn't expecting company," he greeted Ellison with a wide grin. "But yesterday was payday, so at least I can offer you a beer?"

"That'd be fine, thanks. You're my last stop for the day. This is just a routine follow-up, wanted to check if you'd remembered anything odd about discovering the body Sunday," the big detective asked with studied casualness.

"Other than the fact that finding a dead body is hardly commonplace? No, man. Sorry," the young man answered, handing over a chilled bottle of generic beer. "The investigation hasn't turned up anything?"

"That's classified information, Chief. Like I said this is just routine," he took a cautious swig of his beer, quickly suppressing his grimace at the bitter aftertaste.

Sharp blue eyes met Ellison's, the smaller man's skepticism clear, though he reserved comment at the moment. "I wish I could help, but honestly, man, I was pretty freaked. I mean, finding a dead body is bad enough, but finding someone you've met, well…" his voice trailed off with a slight shudder.

"You'd met her before? I don't remember you mentioning that," Ellison commented with a frown.

"I don't know if I did. Sorry. Didn't think it was important. I mean, it's not like I knew her well or something. I spoke to her a couple of times about environmental issues. She was easy to talk to, easier than any of the other council members I'd talked with, at any rate. I don't think she would have recognized me if we passed on the street, even," Sandburg explained hastily, grateful when the look of ire was replaced by weariness.

"You're probably right, Chief. But you still should have mentioned it," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in response to his escalating headache. He glanced up when he felt a warm, strong hand on his forearm, his gaze meeting concerned blue eyes.

"You okay?" Sandburg asked with quiet intensity, looking positively unconvinced by Jim's nod but not ready to push it yet. "Hey, if I'm your last duty of the day, let me at least treat you to dinner. As it turned out, I have more than enough for two here," Blair offered with a conciliatory smile and a half pleading look that was hard to resist. "You'd officially be my very first dinner guest at my new digs here."

"You mean to tell me you don't have guests lining up around the block to join you?" Jim asked with a grin that took any sting out of his words. He couldn't explain it, and God knew he didn't want to explore the idea too closely, but he found himself liking this quirky young man. Underneath the layers of thrift shop worthy clothing and the incessant chatter he caught intriguing glimpses of a quick mind and just a hint of steely determination.

"Well, not as yet, but if this soup tastes as good as it smells that might very well change," Blair noted, sniffing at the pot with a blissful look on his expressive face.

Jim had to admit it DID smell good; good enough, in fact, that his stomach sent up a rumbling reminder that he'd skipped lunch again. Finding the thought of going back to his cold, empty apartment singularly unappealing he accepted the invitation with a smile and another drag at the beer.

"Thanks, Sandburg. Guess I can be your 'experimentee' just this once."

"Then you should be reassured to know I've not lost a test subject yet. Come on over and sit down, this is ready to go," the younger man invited, setting out two mismatched bowls, obviously secondhand silverware (also mismatched), and a fragrant loaf of dark bread on a wooden cutting board. He'd heated the bread and it's mellow scent complemented the aroma of the various herbs that were in the soup.

"Now, this is a recipe a fellow TA gave me, so I take no blame if it's no good. But if it tastes half as good as it smelled, well I'll be happy to accept full credit," Blair rambled as he dished out generous portions of the greenish soup in which various vegetable mingled with bite sized pieces of chicken. "There you go, man, dig in!"

Jim picked up his spoon and took a generous bite of the soup, only to spit it back out into the bowl with an exclamation of equal parts anger and disgust.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me, Sandburg? What's the big idea?" The tall detective stood up angrily,

"I…I…what…" stuttering, Blair took a hasty taste of his own serving, then turned disbelieving eyes to his disgruntled guest. "There's nothing wrong with the soup, man. It's fine. Maybe a little salty, but certainly not horribly so. Are you sensitive to any herbs or seasonings? The stock is heavily seasoned, with several different herbs. Maybe that's the problem," he mused, giving Ellison a considering look.

Jim held up a placating hand, stopping the flow of words. "I'm sorry, Chief. I've been having some problems with…well…some weird health problem, I guess. The doctors can't figure it out yet, but sometimes my sense of taste gets a little strange. That must be what happened here. Not your fault." Even on short acquaintance Blair knew that it had been hard for the big man to admit he didn't have complete control over some aspect of his own perceptions.

"Is it just taste get gets wonky?" he asked cautiously, the ever present hope he'd lived with for the last decade or so coming to the forefront, as relentless as a terrier puppy with a favorite toy.

"Nah, it's all of them, off and on. Sight and hearing are the worst, taste and smell usually go weird at the same time. I've had all kinds of tests, but the doctors tell me it's just stress." Jim's disgusted look clearly communicated his opinion of that.

"What about touch? You feeling extra touchy/feely these days?" the younger man asked abruptly.

"Huh? Yeah, I guess so. I mean, sometimes my clothes seem to irritate my skin. And my saving cream feels…weird."

"Oh, my God, all five. He has all five," Blair muttered softly to himself, sitting down abruptly on the couch. "All five."

"What the hell are you going on about here, Chief?" Ellison asked, sounding like his patience had come to an end.

"I think I know what's wrong with you, Jim. And I think I know how to help you."

"Now why do I find that so hard to believe?" the older man asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes dismissively.

"Hey, you may think I'm 'just a garbage man,' but you don't always see the whole picture, you know?" Blair said with more than a trace of heat.

"Yeah, yeah, your boss said you were a student at Rainer. An archeology major, wasn't it?"

"Anthropology. I'm a graduate student going for my doctorate in Anthropology." That statement was made with quiet pride and another glimpse of that determination Jim had sensed before. Though he hadn't been the most dedicated of students, Ellison had done the first two years of college, and had seen enough to know those who made it to their Masters degree and beyond had a deceptive amount of courage and resolve. Graduate courses were not for wimps.

"Right, anthropology. But, that still doesn't answer what that has to do with my health problems," Ellison replied wearily.

"If what I suspect is true, YOU are my field of study. My Holy Grail. God, this is incredible! See, in ancient times, every tribe had a guardian to protect them. This guardian was chosen because of a genetic enhancement, the ability to train their senses far beyond the norm. They were known as Sentinels," Blair explained, his speech growing faster as he sensed Ellison's growing anger.

"Look, in this monograph by Sir Richard Burton, the explorer, not the actor, it explains the concept. I've found modern day examples of one or two enhanced senses; tasters and perfumers, and the such. But never three or four senses, let alone all five. This is incredible! If I could just get you to take some tests, if you'd let me observe you. I could help you gain control, and in exchange you could be my thesis subject. This would be perfect," he pleaded, seeing Jim's expression close down completely.

"Christ, where did you come up with this pile of bullshit, Sandburg? You take your break out behind the trash pile smoking the wacky weed? I came here just to see if you had any new information on the case, not to be ridiculed by some neo-hippie witch doctor punk." He stood and picked up his coat from the couch back where he'd laid it earlier. "You remember something from the case, you call me. Otherwise, keep the hell away from me," Jim growled, striding purposefully toward the exit, leaving the stunned Sandburg standing in the middle of his living space, his blue eyes wide with shocked disbelief; torn between anger, dismay, and a mildly insane urge to giggle madly.

"Well, that went well…NOT."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The phone jarred Jim Ellison awake, eliciting a groan as he turned over and saw the time displayed on is alarm clock. Five thirty; this had better be good.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim, it's Blair. Look, I'm really sorry about yesterday, man. I wasn't making fun of you, or trying to humiliate you or take advantage or whatever. If you ever need help with your senses, I'll help. No strings. I just wanted you to know that up front. But I'm really calling because I have an idea about your case. Something was bugging me about it, and now I think I know what it is, and it might help. See, a student of mine did an article for the local…"

"Whoa! Sandburg, stop right there!" Jim barked out, his right hand covering his eyes as if in pain as the voice on the phone trailed off. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" he queried wearily.

"Oh. Yeah, man, sorry. But I need to be at work in an hour or so, and I forget not everyone keeps these hours. I guess you could come by the dump later today, or send someone else by if you don't want to talk to me yourself, but really I think I may be able to help you guys. There's a pattern to the killer's choice of places to leave the body. At least I think there is," he concluded a little breathlessly.

Ellison sighed and ran a hand wearily over his face, considering the situation a moment before speaking. "Give me a few minutes to wake up and get dressed at least. You familiar with Cuppa Joe's? Meet me there in half an hour," he directed the young man, barely waiting for Sandburg's acknowledgement before hanging up.

He'd felt badly once he'd gotten back to the loft the night before, unsure why he'd reacted so strongly to Sandburg's comments. There'd been no sense of mockery from the younger man, no indication that he'd been anything but sincere. But to suggest Jim was like a throwback to some sort of pre-civilized 'superman' was absurd in the extreme. Still, it hadn't warranted the reaction Ellison had displayed, and if nothing else, he fully intended to apologize to the grad student this morning.

Calling Cuppa Joe's a coffee shop was assigning it a degree of elegance it didn't honestly deserve. The ramshackle building had a distinct easterly tilt to it, and only half the faded awning still remained after last winter's storm. But inside was fragrant and warm, the coffee simple and rich while the muffins and pastries were baked fresh each morning.

Not particularly surprised to find Blair already waiting for him, Jim bought himself a large coffee and a still warm apple turnover before joining the younger man at the only window seat.

"Hey, man, thanks for meeting me," Sandburg greeted him with a cautious smile. "Sorry for the ungodly hour."

"Not a problem, Sandburg. I planned to get going early today anyway. What do you have for me, Chief?"

"It's weird, but something about the case was bothering me, you know? Tickling at something in my memory, but I couldn't put it together. Then after you left last night, I did some meditating, and…whoa!…there it was. An article one of my former students wrote for the local paper, a Sunday supplemental article. You know, the Cascade Weekender magazine? She did it right after the last council elections, and had asked me to proof it for her, so I'd had a copy on my computer. Been meaning to clear out the older files, but never got to it, you know how it is when you get busy…" he trailed off a little as Ellison cleared his throat and gave him an impatient look.

"Oh, right. Sorry. So, anyway, I still had it on my laptop, and here's a copy of it," he handed over the printout even as he kept talking. "Suzette…my student…she did this article which in short compared the promises, platform and public image of each council member with random quotes taken in more candid circumstances. All the quotes she used were from public sources such as newspapers, radio show transcripts, that sort of thing. It's really a humorous, insightful article, but the part that will interest you in particular is what I highlighted amongst the more candid quotations." He pointed to the second page then settled back to watch the detective's reaction. He didn't have long to wait.

"My God, you could be on to something here Sandburg," he said with a note of increasing excitement. "This quote from Gayle Meadows about her childhood as 'poor white trash' crops up quite a lot. It could explain why she was left at the dump."

"And George Criss's comment about 'not being caught dead in a gym' or William Bryant's jokes about retiring to be an exhibit at the Smithsonian. So I figured the quotes for Mrs. Pinero,,,"

"…would give us a clue as to where she's going to be found. Damn. You could be right, this could be the break we're looking for. If we can get there before they deposit the body, we could catch them."

"That's what I was hoping, anyway. You can keep that copy of the article, and you know…if you need me for anything…just call," the younger man said hesitantly as he stood to leave. "Good luck."

Ellison stood as well, following the shorter man out into the brisk, early morning street, shoving his hands deep in his jacket pockets and hunching his shoulders against the cold. "Look, Sandburg, about last night…I apologize. I was out of line, and while I don't buy this theory of ancient tribal watchmen, I didn't need to be that rude. And I do appreciate this information," he said, his discomfort making him sound stiff and formal.

Blair's expressive blue eyes lit up a bit at Jim's words, and his smile was open and sincere. "You're welcome man. And as for the other, well, I understand. I sprang that on you out of the blue; you weren't ready for it. Just remember it's a natural part of who you are, and you could use it to your advantage. So if you ever change your mind, I still think I could help. You have my address; you know how to reach me. And listen, about that…if you don't want me to do my thesis on you, okay. I guess I can understand that. But the offer to help still stands. No strings."

"Yeah, I'll…uh…keep it in mind," he said, stopping by his truck and watching the other man walk up to a dilapidated Corvair. It occurred to him that when he was around Sandburg the chronic headaches had a tendency to disappear; in the younger man's proximity Jim felt pleasantly at ease. He didn't realize how accustomed he'd become to the constant onslaught of pain and sensory input until it abated, and despite his protests he found himself reconsidering Blair's offer of help. An odd squeak-flap sound interrupted his train of thought, and the morning sun reflecting off a bright yellow bird in flight mesmerized him, as he took a couple of steps toward the sight, out into the middle of the street.

"Oh, you might want to contact the paper…" Blair turned back toward the detective as he spoke, stopping in surprise when he saw the big man just staring blankly into space. "Detective Ellison?"

The grad student started back toward the unmoving man standing in the road, hurrying his pace when he heard what sounded like the roar of a hotrod's engine and the wail of a police siren. A black sports car careened around the nearby corner; the driver obviously fighting to maintain control. Breaking into a desperate sprint Sandburg hit the much larger Ellison at an angle, sending them both staggering to the far side of the street and safety. Tumbling to the ground, Jim came back to his senses, turning to Blair with a combination of puzzlement and anger.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, surging to his feet to tower over the still prone Sandburg.

"Saving your ass, that's what! You were standing in the middle of the road preparing to do an impersonation of a vertical speed bump. Oh, man…you must have zoned! Damn! I should have warned you!" Blair thumped his forehead with his fist in frustration, not even noticing the policeman who ran up in some concern.

"Holy Mother of God! Are you two okay? I thought for sure you were a goner," the new arrival gasped out at Ellison.

"What happened?" Jim asked again, his gaze shifting between the now standing Blair and the officer.

"We were pursuing this punk Mario Andretti wannabe, he nearly lost it coming around the corner there, and if this fella hadn't pushed you out of the way he would have mowed you down. Ya know, you look awful familiar…you a cop?"

"Detective Ellison, Major Crime. You lost the guy you were pursuing?" he wondered, more to help him get his bearings than out of any true curiosity.

"Got him at the next intersection. You need an ambulance? You okay, young man?" the officer, Terry Williams by his badge, asked turning his attention to the grad student.

"Fine. I'm fine," Blair mumbled, running a still shaking hand down his face. "That really sucked, man."

"We're fine, thanks. You should go assist in the arrest," Jim suggested, smiling woodenly in reassurance. He didn't want to be scrutinized any closer by the younger officer, nor did he want word of his near accident to make the rounds any more than necessary.

"Very well, Sir," the officer replied, recognizing the older man's rank. "If you find you need medical assistance, an ambulance has already been called for the perp." With that Officer Williams strode back the way he'd come.

"What the hell just happened?" Jim muttered more to himself than to Sandburg, but the younger man answered him anyway.

"I think you zoned out. It's when you focus too much on one sense, the rest kind of shut down for the moment. I'm so sorry man, I should have thought to warn you of that," Blair said with a stricken expression. "Do you remember what it was that caught your attention?"

"It was a bird. Yellow. Bright yellow. It was almost like I could see each individual feather, shinning in the sunlight…" he trailed off, waiting for his companion's derisive laughter.

It never came. The young anthropologist looked up at Jim with a sort of clinical awe, his eyes bright with suppressed excitement. "That is so cool, man! Well, except for the almost getting run over thing," he noted, calming immediately.

"Okay, let me ask you this. Let's just say I AM one of those guardian people…what'd you call them?" he snapped the fingers on his right hand repeatedly as he tried to remember the term.

"Sentinels."

"Yeah, yeah. Sentinel. Let's just say I am one of those. Does anything in your studies show how to turn these senses off?"

"Why would you want to turn them off? Man, they will give you an awesome advantage in your work! You'd be like the perfect one man crime lab," Blair began, only to be halted by Jim's upraised hand.

"In a word, these 'zone outs.' This is not something I can have happening to me in the field, Chief. If I can't control them, they are of no use to me," he declared, not even realizing he'd verbally, at least, changed his position on whether or not he believed Sandburg's theories.

"But you CAN learn to control them. It just takes time, and practice. Like any new skill. Plus, most of the writings mentioned that the Sentinel had a companion, someone to watch his back, bring him out of a zone or prevent them from happening. Someone to guide him in the use of his senses," the grad student explained with obvious conviction.

"And in the meantime? Damn, this is serious, Sandburg. You said you'd help me. Can you? Can you get me this control? Keep this from happening again? If it happens at the wrong time, someone could get killed," the big man ground the words out between clenched teeth, his pride rebelling at not being able to control his own perceptions.

"I told you I'd help, I meant it. Look, I gave my notice at the dump Monday, since the new semester starts after next week, and they already brought on an experienced equipment op. I can call in today, ask them to cut my hours way back, or let me go completely, then I can spend some extra time with you. I need to observe you in your work first, so I can best determine how to proceed. This will be great, man. And maybe you'd consider letting me take a few notes? It can be completely confidential, has to be, but you'd make a great subject," he reiterated his request from the night before; pleased to see Ellison seemed to be considering it.

"Whoa, Darwin, slow down there. Next thing I know you'll be trying to move in with me. Let's just take it one step at a time, okay? If you can work with me for a few days, that would be fine. We can determine then if more is needed. For the time being I'd like to keep this completely on the QT, got it?"

"Oh, yeah, got it Big Guy. I can do secret. No problem." Blair held up both hands in a signal of surrender, gracing the bigger man with a wide smile.

"Great," Ellison sighed, wondering wearily which would drive him insane first: his senses or this young man. "Go take care of what you have to at work, and meet me at the coffee shop across from the precinct, at noon. In the meantime, I'm going to get this information to the task force."

"Okay, see you there." With that the younger man literally bounced over to his car, giving Ellison a cheerful wave as the green vehicle coughed and sputtered its way away from him.

With yet another sigh the detective got into his own sensible truck and headed toward the police station, pleased at least with the new information on the case, but already wondering if maybe he hadn't made a mistake in encouraging Sandburg.

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"There are at least three quotes where Mrs. Pinero describes herself as a 'high tone bitch' out to prove her point no matter who, or what, opposes her. The use of 'bitch' repeatedly might indicate she'll turn up in a breeding kennel," Jim mused out loud as the rest of the Sunday Strangler task force reviewed the article Sandburg had supplied.

"Or a grooming place. Even a pet store. That one over on Elmcrest specializes in purebred show dogs," Henri pointed out, tapping the article with the pencil he held in one hand.

"It would help if we could narrow it down some. Though I like the potential of the store Detective Brown referred to. Le Petit Puppe has a high-class clientele, possibly including Ms. Pinero herself. That's something we could look into," Jasper McConnel added, jotting down a note to himself. "We don't have a lot of time, but it should be easy enough to compile a list of the kennels and pet shops in Cascade."

"Don't forget groomers as well," Simon contributed, walking to the door of his office and beckoning the weekend secretary, Gloria. "We need a printout of all the dog groomers, kennels, and pet shops in Cascade. And we need it yesterday. Also a copy of the duty roster for today and tomorrow."

Turning back to the assembled task force, the Major Crime captain assumed his accustomed role of commander. "I want surveillance on every targeted business, starting at their normal closing time tonight. If possible I want at least one officer inside the business, and two outside, in radio contact. This was a damned fine bit of work, Jim. Best lead we've had so far, so we don't want to waste it."

"Where'd you get this again?" McConnel asked, giving the taller man a piercing glance.

"The kid who found the body at the landfill, he remembered this article after I touched base with him yesterday. He called me this morning to tell me about it."

"Interesting. He just HAPPENED to remember it? And, this isn't a copy of a published article, Ellison. This is a printout from a computer. He just HAPPENED to have this on his hard drive?" the Homicide detective sneered. Bad feelings had been brewing between the hotshot Homicide investigator and Major Crime's most successful member, and it seemed they had reached the breaking point.

"Just what are you getting at, McConnel?" Chunks of dry ice gave off more heat than Ellison's eyes at that moment.

"Maybe you should bring this young man in for questioning, hmm? Seems a lot of coincidences here, and personally I don't believe in coincidences. Maybe we don't need to expend the energy on a stakeout after all."

Jim snorted in disbelief. "Forget it, McConnel. The kid's clean. He's just trying to help us out, he's about as dangerous as Henri's cocker spaniel puppy."

"Hey, man, Pookie's a killer!" Henri joked, leaning back and grinning widely. "Provided, of course, you're a rawhide chew toy."

Assorted snorts of laughter greeted that announcement, most of them having met the blond ball of fluff Brown tried to pass off as a 'guard dog in training.' The building tension dissipated, though the thoughtful look on McConnel's face would have alerted Ellison to the fact he was not completely put off his idea, had Jim been looking at the Homicide detective then.

But he wasn't; he was looking at his watch and gathering up his portion of the paperwork scattered over the table. "Look, I have to meet Sandburg at noon, so when do you want us to convene again to finalize our plans, Simon?"

If the Major Crime captain found it odd his best detective was meeting the young garbage-man again he made no comment, only decreed a two o'clock meeting and dismissed the task force to prepare. But, he called Jim's name quietly, holding him back as the others filed out.

"Anything going on here Jim that I should know about?" he asked pointedly once they were alone.

"Not at all, Simon. Look, Sandburg's a grad student, he wanted to talk to me about something to do with his thesis. It's no big deal. But he's probably sitting there waiting for me now, so if I'm dismissed…?" his raised eyebrow turned the last into a question.

"Go on, go on. See you at two. And Jim, tell him thanks, would you? Not a lot of people would have gone to the extra effort."

"I'll tell him, Sir. See you in a couple of hours." With that Ellison strode hurriedly to the elevator, his mind already working on the details of the stakeouts that weekend.

He was unaware of the knowing smirk McConnel sent his way, though it might not have surprised him – they'd been at odds since they were assigned to work together on this case. Jasper McConnel was an administrator-in-training as far as Ellison was concerned, more concerned about how a case would look on his record rather than solving them on their own merits. It was an attitude than hit the Sentinel wrong, and he'd made no secret of it.

Rubbing at his stiff neck, hoping to ease back the pain in his head a little, Ellison entered the elevator car and punched the button for the ground floor, the sliding doors cutting off the chaotic sight and sounds of Major Crime and encasing the big man in a temporary cocoon of peace.

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As Ellison listened to Blair Sandburg expound on the expedition that led to his fascination with tribal guardians, the older man noted again how much more comfortable he felt around the grad student. The mingled aromas from the assorted lunches being served around them had nearly overwhelmed him when he entered the café, yet after only a short time in Blair's company the smells had faded once again to the background. Still, the thought of possibly having heightened senses awakened the echoes of his own father's voice speaking the dreaded word 'freak' in disgust.

Something of his feelings must have shown on his face because the anthropologist stopped in mid-gesture and gave him a puzzled look.

"What?" The infamous Ellison growl was remarkably ineffective against the grad student.

"You're still resisting this whole idea, aren't you? The whole idea of having hyper senses. I did a little research earlier today, before coming here. And I suspect your senses originally came online in Peru, after your helicopter crashed…" he trailed off uncertainly when Jim glowered at him.

"There are laws against invasion of privacy, Sandburg," he ground out.

"What privacy? It was on the cover of a nationally distributed magazine, not a government classified document," Blair pointed out. "I knew I'd heard the name 'James Ellison' before, so I was curious. I mean, hyper senses aside, you're surviving that ordeal is pretty miraculous. And it's a nearly textbook example of the circumstances that can activate Sentinel abilities."

"You mentioned that before. What are you talking about?" Jim asked, interested despite himself.

"Most of the studies mentioned that the Sentinel was usually 'offline,' for lack of a better word, during their youth and early adulthood. They would go on a 'quest' for their abilities, a quest taken alone in the wilderness. The theory was that it was the solitude that brought the senses to full power, though some theorized that a traumatic experience would also work. Based on what I read in that article, you're experiences in Peru encompassed both, yet somehow you managed to suppress your abilities after you were rescued. How much do you remember of that time?"

Normally any questions or comments regarding the time he spent lost in Peru were met with stony silence or outright irritation, but looking into Sandburg's curious, compassionate blue eyes Jim found himself answering with unusual openness.

"I don't remember a lot of it. Just impressions and fleeting glimpses of memories, I have scars from injuries I can't remember receiving. I can recall the first few days, watching the last two of my men die, using a chunk of flat metal from the wreckage to carve out graves for each of my team. And the strange feeling that someone or something was watching. Then it kind of blurs, until I was found by the recon team and brought home." The pale blue eyes were distant and sorrowful for a moment, then with a visible effort Jim brought his thoughts back to the present.

"Definitely traumatic, man. And didn't you mention you'd taken a camping trip alone recently?" Sandburg continued.

"Yeah. Took a vacation, nothing traumatic there, Chief. Had a nice time, actually," the detective smiled a bit sadly. "My divorce had just become final, and I can't honestly say it was a celebration or anything like that, but Carolyn – my ex – was never a big fan of camping, so somehow it just seemed like a good idea."

"Yeah, I can see the logic there, man. So you were gone – what? – a week? Long enough to set the Sentinel abilities back into action. It all makes perfectly good sense."

"Perfectly good sense? This is your definition of 'perfectly good sense'?" Ellison asked in amazement. "This is still all speculation and bullshit, Sandburg." He snorted in disgust and turned his attention on his newly arrived salad.

"Really? And you call yourself a detective," the younger man shot back, stabbing a tomato in his salad emphatically. "Let's back up a minute, okay? What does a detective do, huh? He studies a situation, gathers evidence and clues, and draws a conclusion. And he keeps on repeating that cycle until he finds the answer, right?" At Jim's reluctant nod he continued. "That's what an anthropologist does as well, only their 'crimes,' if you will, are possibly thousands of years old."

"So our jobs are similar, so what? When boiled down a lot of jobs can be described by those steps," Ellison pointed out, not unkindly.

"Okay, good…yeah…right. So, let's say you're doing an investigation, and the evidence turns up that the drug dealer you're trying to catch is your best friend from grammar school. You look at everything six ways from Sunday but it still all points to your friend. This is a guy you've known for twenty-five years, you danced at his wedding, you're the godfather to his oldest son, he's like a brother to you. What do you do, huh? You turn away and pretend the evidence doesn't exist? You warn him so he has a chance to run? No, somehow I just don't see you doing that. You arrest him, then do everything you can to be sure he and his wife and kids get the best legal help. In other words you deal with the reality and the consequences of the situation, right?"

"You getting to a point here, Chief?" the big man wondered testily.

"The evidence on your senses is piling up and still you're not acknowledging the situation, man!" Blair declared with quiet intensity. "What more do you need? Look, let's try a simple test right here, right now. If it doesn't convince you, then I'll pick up the tab and call it fair, okay? I won't bother you any more."

"What kind of test do you have in mind?" the detective asked warily.

"Okay, the ladies in the booth behind you are both having salads. I want you to try to determine what the people in the booth beyond them are having, using your sense of smell. Just close your eyes and concentrate, imagine your sense of smell like an extra arm, reaching out behind you to that booth. What can you smell there?"

The older man gave his companion a skeptic look, but obediently closed his eyes, an expression of concentration crossing his face. He unconsciously tilted his head as he imagined reaching out with his sense of smell, following imaginary wisps of fragrance back to the table behind him. Certain he had the right table, he struggled to untangle the mingled scents, amazed at how the mental imagery helped him.

"Charbroiled meat…hamburger…onion…grease…mustard…root beer. The one is having a burger and fries, with onion, and a root beer. His companion, who is wearing Chanel Number 5, is having…hmm…sauerkraut? Must be a Reuben sandwich, fries, and ice tea," he reported, his eyes still closed as he concentrated.

"Why don't you think it's hot tea?" Blair queried quietly, his eyes glowing with satisfaction at the success of his experiment. Not only was Ellison showing he had the abilities, but it seemed he'd already managed to make a dent in the detective's protective walls around his abilities. Maybe the big man wasn't as much of a hard case as he'd seemed at first.

"Hot tea would probably smell stronger, besides, I heard the ice clinking," Ellison replied without thought, making Sandburg realize the man had actually begun to unconsciously use his senses even as they made his life miserable.

"Fantastic! See? Jim, you can master this, man! A little practice, some work, tests…you will be unstoppable. The ultimate detective," the anthropologist enthused, stopping only when the waitress appeared with their sandwiches.

"We don't even know if I'm right," Jim cautioned his companion, even as he smiled little, savoring the seeming success.

"Right, right. Let me just go check this out," he agreed, sliding out from his seat and walking up to the unsuspecting couple seated two seats behind the Sentinel.

"If you're finished with it could I take the mustard? Our waitress didn't bring us any," Sandburg asked the elderly couple seated there. "Oh, is that a Reuben? Man, I almost ordered that, now I wish I had."

"You should have, Dear," the lady said with a warm smile. "Their Reuben is the best in Cascade, I always order it."

"I'll remember that next time," he promised with a pleased smile before returning to Ellison's table.

"A hamburger and fries, a Reuben and fries, iced tea, and some sort of dark cola, couldn't say for sure if coke or root beer. But I'd say you were absolutely correct, Jim. How're you feeling now? Any headache or pain from using your senses like that?"

"Actually, Chief, I feel pretty good. You're not just saying that I got it right to get me to agree to your idea, are you?" His right eyebrow was cocked up a little, a teasing glint showing in his light blue eyes.

"No way, Jim. I swear, I'll never lie to you about your abilities. I know I give the impression of being a flake at times, but when it comes to Anthropology I'm 100% dead serious," Blair explained, his expression as solemn as his words.

"Fair enough."

"So, you convinced, Jim? Or do you still think I'm making it all up?"

The detective sighed wearily. "I never thought you were making it up, Chief. But I really hoped it was something that could be cured, I don't want to be seen as some sort of unnatural freak." His voice was low and soft, speaking more to himself than to his companion, but Blair had no problem hearing the muted pain.

"Hey man, it's not unnatural, and you are NOT a freak. It's a gift. Look, this may sound strange, but I kind of understand your situation here. Do you know what age I was when I started at Rainer? I was sixteen, man. Sixteen. I was barely even old enough to drive, and I was living on a University campus as a full time student. I was this skinny, scrawny little kid, virtually invisible to the other students, while the professors all treated me like some sort of curiosity. Talk about feeling like a freak. And it was all because I was gifted with a high IQ and a parent who didn't believe in limitations. Take it from me, Jim. You do not have a curse, you are not a freak. This is a gift, and if…when…you learn to control it, you'll understand that." The young man's eyes were glowing with conviction, his sincerity plain to see.

"Okay, okay…I'll believe that when it happens. But I get your point," Jim replied while restlessly turning his coffee cup in his hands. "You're serious though, about this offer to help? You aren't going to get me started then bail on me, are you? I need someone I can depend on, Chief. My job is too dangerous to be playing games."

"Jim, you are the living embodiment of my life's work. I'm not going to bail on you, this is way too important to me."

Jim sighed again, an oddly harsh sound. "Okay, then, if you want to use the information for your thesis, I can go along with that." He held up one hand to forestall the younger man's excited response. "PROVIDED, I am allowed to read, and approve, the final draft before it is submitted. AND, that my name will not be used."

"No problem, man. Protecting the subject's privacy is SOP, and as long as you read my paper with an open mind we will be fine. Oh, God, this is so exciting. I've got to start taking notes, I should have from the first time I realized you might have the senses," the grad student rambled, digging though his well worn backpack for a notepad and pen.

"Slow down, Sandburg. Finish your lunch, we still need to come up with a plan to get you a ride along pass. I don't want it to become common knowledge about my senses, either. For now we need to keep it between the two of us," Jim decided, looking pensively out the window.

"Oh, absolutely. Actually, I don't think you could ever go public, not really. I mean, the senses give you an edge, but they could also be used against you. The fewer people who know, the better chance you'll get the chance to use your abilities, and the safer you'll be."

"Damn, you're right. Okay, yeah…well, we'll keep it quiet. Though I think Simon will have to be told eventually. But not until I know if I can control this. Now finish up your lunch, Darwin, I have to get back to work."

"Yes, Dad," the young man smirked, laughing when the burly detective threatened to smack him.

Jim grinned at his companion's antics as he pulled out a twenty, waving off the grad student's attempts to pay. A strange sense of ease settled over Ellison as they walked toward the exit, a feeling of rightness, of coming home. Something in this effervescent young man seemed to fill a void that Jim hadn't even realized existed in himself before.

"Tell you what, Chief. I'm going to propose your ride-along to Simon after our meeting at two, so can you come by the station at about three, three thirty? I'm thinking I'll just tell him it's for your dissertation, not what the subject is. Say you have to keep the subject under wraps to protect its viability or whatever. I think he'll buy that, he's already grateful for the help you gave with the article. Then you can accompany me Saturday on the stakeout. Sound okay to you?"

"Sounds perfect! I'll grab some supplies, my laptop, I'll see you there. Major Crimes, right? Which floor?" Blair all but bounced in his enthusiasm.

"Seven. If I'm not around just sit at my desk, it's on the right as you come in, look for my nameplate. I'll meet you there," Jim instructed him as they parted company. The anthropologist hurried off toward where he'd parked his car down the street, and Jim watched him with an unconscious warm smile, feeling at ease with himself for the first time in days.

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

"A ride-along pass? You sure you want to do this, Jim? What's this paper on, anyway?" Simon Banks asked his lead detective, leaning back in his chair and rolling a cigar between his long fingers. "What's the subject again?"

"He couldn't tell me what it was about, Simon. Said it could bias my attitude or something like that. And yeah, I'm sure. He seems like a good kid, and he's been a big help already. Hell, he can come to the stakeout this weekend and free up someone to cover another location. And I'm not proposing anything permanent, Sir. Just a temporary pass, he won't be any problem at all, I'm sure of that."

"You'll damn well make sure of that, Jim. I got a feeling you aren't being totally straight with me, but there's too much going on to worry about that now. Get the kid his credentials, I'll sign off on them. But next week I want both of you in here to explain in more detail just what exactly an anthropology grad student wants from a Major Crimes detective. Is that clear?" Banks wasn't thrilled with this suggestion, but Jim was not only his best detective, he was a good friend, and Simon trusted him. If Ellison wanted the kid as a ride-along, it didn't seem too much to ask.

"Thanks, Simon. I appreciate it, you'll never know he's here," Jim replied, standing to leave. He glanced at his desk, expecting to see the younger man there, since it was now well after three. The twinge of disappointment he felt when he saw the vacant desk was as unexpected as it was sharp.

Still, the grad student was only slightly late, so Ellison took the time to drop by and pick up the forms he'd need before settling down to clear out some routine paperwork. Usually, with a stakeout coming up he'd be heading home for some rest, but he wanted to get the kid squared away first, so it was with mounting irritation that he saw the clock move toward four o'clock with still no sign of Sandburg.

"Dammit, this is exactly what I was afraid of," the Sentinel muttered to himself darkly as he threw another file into his out box.

"What's that, Ellison?" Brown asked as he wandered by. "Who's got you riled up now?"

"Oh, that witness from last Sunday, he was supposed to meet me here an hour ago," the big man grumbled, standing and reaching for his coat. "The hell with it, I need to get ready for tommorrow."

"You mean that longhaired kid, 'bout yay high?" the dark skinned detective asked, holding his hand out shoulder height to Jim.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I saw him come in around three, I guess. McConnel stopped him, I think, asking about something. Maybe he knows where the kid went," Henri informed Ellison with a shrug.

A sick worried feeling hit Jim's stomach at the thought of Blair encountering the unpleasant Homicide cop, remembering the officer's comments earlier regarding the information Sandburg had provided. Responding to an instinct he didn't even realize he had, the former Ranger hurried toward the elevator and down to the floor that housed the Homicide Division.

"Hey, Jim, long time no see. You take a wrong turn somewhere and get lost?" the middle aged officer at the reception desk greeted him.

"Only way anyone ends up here, isn't it Bart?" Ellison shot back with a smirk. "Actually, I'm looking for McConnel, you seen him?"

"Oh, he took some guy back to the interrogation rooms some time ago, haven't seen him since then. Check with Peterson, he probably knows more than me," Bart provided, indicating a desk at the far side of the bullpen.

"Will do, thanks."

Homicide was set up much like Major Crime, though over a larger area, and the cacophony of noise from a dozen or more conversations drove through the Sentinel's skull like a dull drill. Peterson confirmed that McConnel was still in with a 'suspect' and waved the Major Crime detective on through to the interrogation rooms. It took only a moment of listening to find they were in the last room on the left.

Jim gave a perfunctory tap on the door before opening it to find McConnel standing over the smaller man, leaning down while the kid tried to back as far away as possible. A look of trepidation made the grad student look even younger, and even without Sentinel vision Ellison could see a bruise forming on the young man's cheek.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the enraged detective roared, startling the Homicide detective into stepping away from his intended victim.

"Back off, Ellison, this isn't your division," McConnel ground out, stepping backwards reflexively.

"And this isn't a suspect," the Major Crime detective shot back with a glare. "You have no business detaining him."

"Hey, he agreed to this interview."

"That right, Chief?" Ellison asked, his tone automatically softening a little as he looked down at his new friend.

"He…he said he had some questions. I wanted to help," Blair replied a little shakily, running his left hand over his long curls. "But I didn't have anything to do with the killings, I liked Councilwoman Meadows.." his voice trailed off with a small sigh.

"Come on, Sandburg, you're done here. Simon's waiting for us upstairs," Jim said, glaring at the Homicide detective until a soft clinking sound brought his attention back to the anthropologist. "What the hell? Unlock those cuffs immediately! And don't think your captain won't be hearing from Captain Banks about this little display. Come on, Blair," he urged, ushering the grad student out ahead of him. The only thing that prevented him from further expressing his opinion of McConnel's actions was the obviously upset young man at his side, and the faith that Simon Banks would agree with his assessment of the Homicide officer's actions. Now was definitely NOT the time to get himself suspended or disciplined.

"Thanks, man," Sandburg said quietly as they rode up the two floors to Major Crime, alone in the elevator.

"Chief, what were you thinking, letting him question you like that?" Though the question seemed harsh on the surface, it was softened by the big man's gentle tone.

"I didn't know he wanted to question me as a suspect! I thought he wanted to discuss the article, get my ideas on where Mrs. Pinero may show up, you know. Not cuff me to a table and keep asking me about why I did it. He's not real stable," Blair said with a shudder.

Jim reached out one cautious hand and tilted his companion's face up toward him, frowning a little as he did so. "He hit you?" he asked, indicating the darkening bruise.

"Not exactly. I tripped going into the room, hit the wall pretty hard," Blair explained with lowered eyes. "An accident."

Ellison considered Sandburg's obvious discomfort, his instincts all screaming that the younger man way lying, but decided against pushing it; the kid had been subjected to enough aggressive behavior for one day.

"I've got some paperwork for you to fill out, and I want you to come on in and meet Simon if he's still around. If we can get you cleared you can go on the stakeout tomorrow night. If you're still interested, that is."

"Interested? Interested?! Of course I'm interested. This is great man," Blair enthused, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet as they approached Major Crime. Jim couldn't help but smile at the kid's quick recovery; he was impressed actually. Maybe the kid would be able to stick it out long enough for the Sentinel to get a handle on his senses.

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After introducing the obviously wary Simon Banks to his future department observer, Jim ushered the grad student out to attack the necessary paperwork. He returned to Simon's office and closed the door firmly, turning to his captain with anger filled eyes.

"That son-of-a-bitch McConnel was interrogating Sandburg, Simon. He had the kid cuffed to the table for God's sake! And that bruise on his face? Said he 'tripped' going into the room. Right. Sure. Probably tripped over McConnel's foot, assisted by a firm shove in the back. I want that asshole off this investigation, Simon," Jim demanded.

"I think you are getting a little above yourself, Detective," Captain Banks ground out, sitting up straight in his chair and fixing Ellison with a stern look. "Sit down, and let's take a look at this."

"Sorry, Sir," Jim apologized stiffly as he sat in the indicated seat. "It's just this whole situation with McConnel was been grating one me, right from the beginning. And if you could have seen how he was looming over Sandburg, using his size to intimidate the kid…well, I saw red."

"You didn't do something that's going to have IA visiting, did you?" Banks asked sharply.

"No, Sir. I just got Blair the hell out of there. Come on, the kid goes out of his way to be helpful, and that prick treats him like he's the next Charles Manson. McConnel had no RIGHT to treat him that way." A sharp slap to the arm of the chair punctuated his comment.

"What is it with this kid, Jim? I've never seen you this protective of anyone, least of all someone like Sandburg. Come on, he looks like the kind of hippie wannabe you'd normally eat for breakfast," Simon countered, sitting back and studying his detective objectively.

"Is your opinion of me that low, Captain?" Jim asked tonelessly.

"I didn't mean it that way, Jim. But…come on…this isn't like you."

"Regardless, does that mean you sanction McConnel's treatment of Sandburg? He didn't read the kid his rights, he detained him without due process, he was questioning him alone, it wasn't even official and he had the kid cuffed. I know for a fact you would never allow one of your officers to pull a stunt like that," Ellison pointed out.

"Well, you're right about that. I'll give Captain Jones a call; tell him I want McConnel removed from this investigation. I'll give him the full story of what McConnel did," Simon added, holding up one long fingered hand to forestall any comments from his subordinate. "Now, why don't you make sure Sandburg's got all the forms filled out, and as soon as the background check and drug test results come in I'll sign off on him. I've already given Personnel the word to put this one through immediately. With any luck he'll be official tonight. Now get going. And don't forget, as soon as things calm down more I want the full…the whole…story from the both of you," he reminded Ellison as he waved him toward the exit.

"Thank you, Sir," Jim said as he stepped out of the captain's office. Blair was just straightening the stack of paperwork Jim had set him to, his attitude indicating he'd finished the forms.

"Here we go Jim; all filled out, not spindled nor mutilated, and all in triplicate. What next?" he asked with a grin.

"Next, we test your aim," Jim informed him with a grin.

"Oh, man, I don't think I want to have to handle a gun. That's not necessary is it? What're you laughing at?" Blair asked the chuckling detective.

"Not that kind of aim, Dead Eye. They need a urine sample for a drug test," the larger man laughed.

"Well, you could have just said so," Sandburg groused good-naturedly as they headed out the door.

"Nah, that would have taken all the fun out of it," Jim replied, cuffing the curly head lightly as they strode toward Personnel. "You're just too easy, Sandburg."

"Hey, man. It's my first day here, let's not ruin my reputation yet, okay?" Blair countered ushering his companion through the door ahead of him. "I haven't even had a chance to see if there are any likely dating prospects here."

"Just remember, Chief. Most of the women here will be carrying a gun," Ellison reminded him cheerfully.

"Oh. Well, then, guess I'll have to be careful." The grad student took the sample cup the clerk handed him and headed toward the door to the restroom.

"Hey, Chief!"

Blair turned back to the detective expectantly.

"Don't forget to re-holster your weapon when you're done."

Even the clerk laughed at the one-fingered salute Sandburg gave Ellison as he walked out the door.

"Looks like he's going to be a handful," the middle aged woman said with a smirk.

"You could be right," Jim agreed, an unconscious smile softening his features. He couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of a strange phase in his life, and he felt an odd wonder at the warmth he felt toward the younger man.

"You could be right, indeed."

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"Welcome aboard, Mr. Sandburg. Read over the rules and code of conduct, and remember that Detective Ellison is responsible for you, so if you screw up it'll come out of his hide," Simon said gruffly, handing over the observer permit to the smiling anthropologist.

"Great. Thanks, man, you won't regret this," Blair grinned, bouncing a bit as he clipped the pass on his shirt pocket. It was Saturday morning, and his energy and enthusiasm were at their usual high level.

"I'd better not. But know this: I will only regret it once. After that you'll be gone, understand?" he glowered at the young man.

"Yes, Sir!" Sandburg replied jauntily, not at all intimidated by the tall captain. He'd already seen through Banks' gruff exterior to the honorable man inside who would stand by his men against all comers.

"Get him out of here before I really begin to regret this," Simon growled at Ellison, who had the wisdom to marshal his new unofficial partner out with all haste.

"Geez, Chief, how about not trying to get fired on your first day, huh?" the detective commented as he ushered the young man to the chair beside his desk.

Ellison immediately picked up the file on the Sunday Strangler murders, ready to review them a final time before the task force meeting later that morning. Simon had told him privately that McConnel was off the task force, and though he was not officially reprimanded for his handling of Sandburg he was told to take three personal days off. It seemed the officer was facing some sort of personal crisis and Captain Jones of Vice had requested Simon be content with that for now. He assured the Major Crime captain that he would monitor McConnel more closely, and if he stepped out of line again he'd be disciplined to the maximum possible. Jones honestly believed the detective was not a threat to the public, and that pursuing further action at this time would cause more harm than good.

Simon had reluctantly agreed, understanding his fellow captain's desire to help and protect his man in any way possible. And the fact was, Sandburg was not looking to press any sort of charges against the officer. In fact, the newly minted Police Observer seemed to have already forgiven and forgotten; an attitude Banks appreciated.

"Hey, man, what can I do to help?" Blair asked before Jim got too fully ensconced in his study of the file. "Maybe I can…I dunno…bring in a fresh perspective?"

"Help yourself to the individual files, just don't mess anything up," Jim instructed him, indicating the four files that had specific information regarding the four victims.

"Cool," Blair muttered, opening the first file and idly thumbing through the information. He noticed copies from the victim's weekly planner, going back four months, and on a whim checked if similar information was available for the other three victims. Finding what he needed, he located a notebook in his pack and started writing.

"What're you up to there, Chief?" Ellison asked over an hour later.

"Check this out, Jim. I took Gayle Meadow's schedule, according to her dayplanner, and charted it out. Then I did the same for the other three, covering at least three months before the first murder. Here, I circled the events they attended together, which of course includes City Council meetings and other public events. But look at this, there are some that had nothing to do with the City Council that all four of them attended," Blair pointed out, shuffling through numerous sheets covered with charts filled with Blair's busy handwriting.

"Geez, Chief, I'll just bet you're the kind of student that LOVES when they assign homework, right?" Jim teased him gently, though he was impressed with the young man's intuition and took the charts to look more closely at the results.

"You may be on to something here," he murmured after a moment's study. "Some of these events are understandable, like the opening of the new multiplex downtown. But it does seem odd they attended so many of the same social gatherings. From what I understood, William Bryant hated the social scene, but according to this he was at two…no, three…parties that the other three attended. So either his reputation was wrong, OR there's something special about these particular get-togethers," Jim mused, studying the charts carefully.

"Come on, Ellison, the meeting is about to start," Simon called over, interrupting Jim's train of thought. He gathered up Blair's handiwork and smiled down at the observer.

"Come on, Chief, meetings wait for no man," he joked, leading the way into Simon's office. Henri Brown was already there, as way another detective Jim recognized vaguely.

"Jim, this is Detective Stan Bruinswick, he'll be replacing McConnel in this investigation. Bruinswick, this is Detective Jim Ellison, and the observer who is assigned to him, Blair Sandburg," Simon introduced the men before settling down in his seat at the head of the table.

"Brown, this is Blair Sandburg, Blair, this is Henri Brown. Do not believe any more than half of what he might tell you," Jim grinned, as the large dark skinned detective reached over to shake the grad student's hand.

"Who'd you piss off to get assigned to Ellison?" Brown wondered with a wide grin and a wink as he settled back into his seat.

"That's something I haven't figured out yet," Blair shot back with a grin of his own, sitting down beside his Sentinel.

"Settle down, let's get to business," Simon interrupted, indicating the files the detectives had brought in with them. "First order of business should be to confirm we have all the possibilities covered. That was your assignment Brown, so what's the status there?"

"We have at least two officers assigned to each location," Brown began as the others settled back to listen carefully. Time was running short, and this was the best chance they'd had so far to catch the killer or killers.

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"I think Simon was impressed with your cross referencing of the victims social calendars," Ellison commented to his companion as they sat in his truck watching the front entrance to Pets-R-Us.

"Really? How can you tell? His scowl gets less menacing?" Blair asked with a quirky grin. "Though if I'd had more time I could have put the information into a database program and cross referenced it six ways from Sunday. Uh…no pun intended."

"Well, let's hope we don't need to have that done," Jim replied easily.

"Yeah. You know, it's pretty creepy, this guy has kept dead bodies for up to three days. You gotta wonder: where he's keeping them? They've got to have one heck of a big refrigerator," the younger man mused. "I mean what? He puts them in the fridge with his beer and milk? Geez, anyone who could do that would have to be one sick puppy…" Sandburg's voice trailed off slowly, as a look of apprehension crossed his face.

"What? What's wrong?" the detective asked, turning his attention to the grad student.

"Sick puppy. Damn, Jim, we may have missed something important here. Veterinarians. I don't remember anyone talking about vets. Is anyone covering those?"

"Shit!" Jim swore, pulling out his cell phone and dialing Simon, who was coordinating everything. The conversation was brief and terse, with all the officers being put on standby for possible new assignments. They had enough out there – barely – to cover five additional locations if necessary. Fortunately it was still fairly early evening, barely seven thirty, so it wasn't that difficult to bring in some new bodies as well.

Fifteen minutes after his call to Simon Banks, Jim's cell phone rang. Simon's harried voice informed the Sentinel that he and Sandburg were being reassigned to the England Veterinary Clinic, a small veterinary hospital on the outskirts of Cascade. Finding a vantage point that allowed them to observe anyone approaching either entrance to the building, they settled back in to wait.

"Hey, man, we could do some work on your senses here," Blair suggested, looking eagerly at the older man.

"Listen, Darwin, we need to keep alert and focused. This isn't a game; this is the best chance we've had to get a real break on this case. I can't take any chances here," Ellison told him sternly.

"I'm not suggesting you do. Look, you're going to want to be able to USE your senses in your work, right? To do that you need to practice them when you work. I can keep an eye out for approaching vehicles, or anyone sneaking into the place. But honestly, you have to work on this, and now is a perfect time," the anthropologist said persuasively.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Great! Um…let's try hearing, okay? Now we know animals have faster heartbeats than humans, right? The smaller the animal the faster the heartbeat is the usual rule. So, focus your hearing on the building, IN the building, and pick out the heartbeats. Try to determine if any are human. See if you can figure out how many animals there are in there. Those are your goals: any human and how many total. Just concentrate, breathe deep and slow, and focus. You can do this, man," the mellow voice smoothed out even more, soothing the Sentinel.

Despite his reluctance Ellison was not the sort of man to give something only a half measure of effort. He'd learned some degree of deep relaxation and autohypnosis in his covert ops training, and he called on those seldom-used skills now. Carefully extending his hearing he sought out the sounds his Guide had requested, screening out the occasional whimper, the buzz of a refrigerator, the purr of a content cat. All the beats he heard were too fast to be human-normal, though he screened and cataloged each one, finding the rhythmic thumping to be oddly soothing. He was floating along on the waves of sound when a discordant sound disrupted his enjoyment.

"Jim! Dammit, Jim, come back," Sandburg said frantically, rubbing one hand over Ellison's nearest arm.

"Wha…what…what just happened?" the older man asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, man, you zoned again. I'm sorry, I thought I saw a car approaching, I was distracted, but it went on by and when I turned back to you, you were zoned. Are you okay?" Blair ran his hand through his curly hair, looking worriedly at Jim.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. That was actually kind of pleasant, but I think I'd rather not have it happen again."

"You and me both. But, did you hear the heatbeats? Could you distinguish them?" Blair held a pen poised over a blank page of his notebook, using the sparse moonlight to write by.

"Yep. None sounded human, and there are nineteen animals inside the building," Jim reported.

"Oh, man! That's awesome! Do you realize that if you knew the regular heartbeat for particular size and breed animals you could possibly even determine their breed just from the heartbeat? See now what I've been saying? This is a gift! You can USE this, man. You can be a one-man crime lab; faster and more accurate than any forensics unit available," Sandburg enthused, bouncing a bit on his seat in his excitement.

"I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself here, Darwin," the detective countered, shaking his head with amusement at the grad student's enthusiasm.

"I don't think so. Sure, you're going to have to practice, AND you're going to have to study, learn to distinguish between various chemical smells for instance, but I can't see a limitation on what you can learn to do. We're barely starting out here!"

"Settle down, Junior. There's a car approaching."

A dark sedan pulled into the parking lot and circled around to the back entrance before parking right beside the door. Jim picked up his radio and spoke softly into the microphone, reporting the visitor and indicating they were moving in closer to investigate, even as he moved the drove toward the back entrance, blocking the other vehicle's exit.

The man, who was just fitting his key in the lock, looked up with considerable surprise, changing rapidly to fear as Ellison leveled his gun at him and demanded he turn and put his hands up on the wall. The suspect obeyed without hesitation, speaking over his shoulder even as he spread his legs in the classic position.

"I'm Doctor England, I run this clinic. I had a patient call me with an emergency, I'm meeting her here, officer. What is this all about?"

Ellison had removed the man's wallet and checked his ID, verifying that he was indeed Hiram England, DVM. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm Detective James Ellison of the Cascade PD, this is my associate, Blair Sandburg. We're working on a case, and had reason to suspect you might have an uninvited visitor tonight. This client who called, do you know them well?" Jim asked.

"Quite well. Her family has been coming to me since I first opened this clinic fifteen years ago. Her elderly cocker spaniel is having seizures, I suspect I'll have to put him to sleep, which is upsetting for everyone, but the poor thing's been sick for months now. I'd appreciate it if we could avoid upsetting the owner any more than she's going to be," the silver haired man asked gravely. By that time he'd opened the clinic door and turned on the lights in the back examination room.

"I understand, Dr. England. We didn't mean to cause you any problems," Jim assured him.

"Hey, Jim, how about I just take a quick look around? Make sure everything's okay?" Blair offered, indicating the two doors that led to kennels. He'd already surreptitiously counted the cats resting in the cages he could see, and was anxious to take a quick count of the dogs housed here to confirm if Jim's count had been correct.

"Okay, Chief, but make it quick." He turned his attention back to the veterinarian. "Do you get a lot of late night calls?"

"Not as many as you might think, usually one or two a week," the vet replied. He looked ready to expound more on the subject but was interrupted by Blair's strained voice.

"Jim. You better come back here," the young man said, his face shining paper white in the fluorescent light.

"What is it?" the big man asked moving toward his Guide.

Blair didn't speak, just swallowed hard and pointed into the room he'd just exited. The room was square and bordered on each side by four enclosures, obviously meant for large dogs. There were two German Shepherds and a Boxer filling three of the cages on the north side, and a Golden Retriever and a Black Lab in the first two on the south side. In the fourth kennel on the south side was Antoinette Pinero, arranged in a seated position, her legs emerging bare from her sensible knee length skirt were splayed out in front of her, and a neon green shoe lace embedded in her neck. Her dark eyes looked lifelessly at the ceiling; her bloodless hands were primly folded in her lap.

"Aw, Christ," Ellison sighed as he pulled out his cell phone and called Simon again, this time to arrange for a forensics team. He had to step out and close the door to mute the barking of the five dogs inside; barking that was echoed by however many dogs were in the other kennel, even though they couldn't see anything.

"Jim, I have an idea," Blair said quietly. "Use your senses, man. Look, smell; try to find something that doesn't belong there. Well, besides her, of course. It's a clean scene, man, you should do it now, before the others get here."

"Fine, okay. Meanwhile, you tell Dr. England he needs to see his patient up front, not back here, unless he wants her really upset. Don't give him any details, just tell him the kennels are off limits for a while," Ellison directed him before turning to go back into the kennel area containing the dead councilwoman.

Ignoring the barking dogs, Jim focused first his sense of smell, nearly gagging at the stench of urine and feces still prevalent in the kennel despite the frequent cleaning. Underneath that were various chemical smells, and the musky canine scent of the animals that occupied these cages, but nothing that stood out as not belonging there. Kneeling down in the narrow corridor he carefully examined the corpse and the surrounding enclosure. There were a few bits of debris on the floor, just twigs of some sort that he noted should be picked up by forensics. The body had no signs of trauma save the strangulation, and the clothing was clean and relatively unwrinkled. His penetrating gaze fell on the right sleeve of the woman's blouse, noting a slight discoloration, barely discernable. Something else to be sure forensics tagged and tested.

"You get anything?" Blair asked from the doorway, his voice pitched to just carry over the noise from the dogs.

"Not much; a stain on her shirt, some small bits of debris on the floor. I'm not very hopeful much can be garnered from this," Ellison replied.

"The doc took the patient up front, and I think the Calvary just arrived," Blair reported as the detective again exited the kennel.

"Fine," the big man sighed as he spied Simon's tall figure out amongst the milling people waiting to come in. "Let's go face the music, Chief."

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Blair's fingers flew over the keyboard as he sat at Jim's desk in Major Crime. He'd taken the copies of the day-planners, diaries, calendars or whatever else the victims had kept and was entering the information into a database. He'd already called all the surviving council members to request the same sort of information, and was pleased that all but two of them had agreed to send the information over to the PD as soon as they could. Most of them, still shaken by Ms. Pinero's death, had provided the information within an hour of being called.

Sundays were usually quiet at the precinct, so the young man was not disturbed as he worked, his forgotten cup of coffee sitting cold and neglected on the corner of the desk. He'd been at the project for over four hours when he looked up to find Jim staring down at him with a half smile.

"Getting hungry, Chief? You've been at that for hours."

"Yeah, I could eat. Did forensics come up with anything?" he asked as he pulled on the jacket Jim handed him.

"Well, there IS something on her sleeve, some organic compound Carolyn is still trying to pin down. That's the only useful thing they found so far. No hair, no finger prints, nothing. The higher-ups are really getting the heat turned on them, and make no mistake, totally contrary to the laws of physics, that heat won't rise, it'll trickle right down to burn our asses. How's your project coming, anyway?"

"I've got all four of the victims in, and about half the survivors. Got maybe another half dozen to enter, then I can start doing the cross-referencing. My thought is, if we can a common factor between all the victims and some of the other council members, then maybe we can determine who might be the next target. Maybe we can even get some sort of an idea of who's behind all this. At least that's what I'm hoping," Blair explained at they headed down the street to a nearby coffee shop for a quick meal. All the members of the task force were working on various angles of the case, with a group meeting planned for late that afternoon.

"Sounds good, Chief. I spent the morning going over the physical evidence from the earlier victims. I was hoping I could use my senses, but I didn't have any control. This isn't going to be any good to me if I can't control it," Jim groused.

"Geez, man, it's only been a couple of days, give yourself a break! It's like any skill; walking, reading, tying your shoes. You have to practice and practice, and fail a few times. AND allow someone to assist you, to guide you as it were. How about if I go with you and we look over the evidence again?" the grad student offered.

"That'd be fine, but we still need your database finished. Maybe we can get Gloria to help on that, it's just data entry at this point isn't it, Chief?"

"Well, yeah. But how's Simon going to feel with you taking his assistant so I can go over evidence with you? How're you going to explain that to him?" Blair asked.

"I'll just tell him I want an…I don't know…an anthropological outlook on the evidence. See if there's any evidence of a ritual or something. That should do for now. But I'm thinking we're going to have to come clean with Simon. Let him in the loop. He deserves that at least, besides we're going to need someone else in the know. But that's for later. Come on, let's get this to go, and you can train Gloria while we eat," the Sentinel decided, signaling the waitress to change their order. Ten minutes later they were back in the station eating their lunch as Sandburg quickly coached Gloria on what data needed to be entered where.

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"Nothing, nothing, and more nothing," Jim sighed in frustration as he carefully re-bagged the evidence from the first murder. He could feel a headache looming like a large, dark cloud on his mind's horizon. The past hour he'd gone over all the evidence once again, this time with Blair prompting him, and still there was nothing to be found.

"Achoo!"

The big man's sneeze was so sudden and explosively loud Blair couldn't help but jump, turning wide eyes to his companion.

"Man, are those things properly listed as deadly weapons with the FBI?" he quipped as Ellison sniffed noisily. Seeing his friend's need, he promptly pulled out his handkerchief, handing the clean cloth over without further comment.

"Thanks, Chief," the detective commented, then he frowned unhappily at the now soiled white square. "What the hell do you wash this in? It smells like those old, stale pieces of bubble gum you used to get with baseball cards, back when I was a kid. You need to upgrade your detergent, Buddy." He complained.

"Fine, you can just show me how it's done when you wash THIS before returning it to me," Sandburg countered, holding up his hand to refuse the proffered cloth.

Ellison made no comment to Sandburg's comment, his eyes going suddenly distant as the trained, sharp mind behind the blue orbs picked up an odd thought. "They were all so clean…" he muttered, turning back to the neatly piled bags of evidence, which included all clothing removed from each corpse.

"What're you thinking, man?" Blair asked curiously.

"Laundry. They were all kidnapped several days before they were found, and most of them lived several days before the kidnapper killed them. But, they were all very clean when they were found. Their clothing was…fresh looking. Like maybe the killer laundered their clothes before dropping off the bodies. Probably even cleaned the bodies, though I'll have to check with Dan about that. He might have noticed," Jim rambled on, already opening the bag of clothing from the first victim.

"So, you're thinking if all the clothing smells the same…" Sandburg started.

"…then maybe we can determine what kind of laundry detergent the perp uses. Not a lot of help, but dammit, we don't have anything else," Ellison agreed, taking a careful whiff from the bag of clothing, and with Blair giving him guidance when needed, he traced down the scent of the soap used.

A half hour later they stood in the household cleaners aisle of the supermarket looking with some dismay at dozens of different types of detergents. With a rueful look they began at the top and worked their way down, carefully sniffing every form of each different brand. The one employee who approached the duo and questioned their odd behavior left a few moments later scratching his head at the strange methods the Cascade Police used.

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"Alright, people, I want some answers, and I want them yesterday. Ellison, what did you come up with after reviewing the evidence?" Simon questioned brusquely, his ever-present cigar clamped tightly between his teeth.

"It's not much, but I have forensics testing the victims' clothing for trace elements found in an industrial brand of laundry soap. I suspect the perp is washing their clothing before leaving the bodies to be found…" At Simon's puzzled look Jim trailed off uncomfortably.

"How did you reach THAT conclusion?" the tall captain asked.

"The clothing from each of the victims smells the same," Ellison replied, looking uncomfortable at the strange expressions the others sent his direction. "I traced it to a particular brand of detergent, though forensics will have to match it for certain. It's a type of detergent not used much by individual consumers, mostly it's sold for industrial use, so it may help narrow the search down a little," he concluded.

"Okay, well, anything is better than nothing," Simon agreed at last, though Jim was well aware his captain would NOT be letting this go. "Sandburg, you got your database working?"

"Yep. So far I have the three parties given in the last two months that all four of the victims attended. There are two other council members who attended these three parties, Daniel Webber and Georges Swenson. There are five others who attended two of the events, and seven who attended one of them. Next I'm going to go over the guest list and agenda for each event and see if there are any common aspects to the different events," the young man reported, seemingly all in one breath.

"Anything in common among these parties, outside the luminaries attending?" Brown asked.

"Nothing I could see on the surface," Sandburg admitted. "But I want to do some more digging into the reasons for the gatherings. All of them were held in private homes, invitation only, but with the guest list they have it's a good bet they weren't just casual get-togethers."

"I want that today, Sandburg. If you need more help from Gloria, just ask; we can't afford to lose another council member. Brown, I want double guards on …who did you say, Sandburg?…Swensen and who?" the captain asked impatiently.

"Webber. Dan Webber," Blair supplied.

"Right. Bruinswick, you're in charge of coordinating Homicide's assistance in guarding the remaining council members, work with Brown here to make sure we don't have anyone go missing. Okay, you know what we need to do, get me some answers, people!"

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Four hours later the tired members of the task force once again convened to compare their notes, and for a final review of what they needed to do before heading home, or to stakeout duty, for the night. It was hard to believe, but Simon Banks looked even more stressed than he had earlier, after spending the last two hours in a meeting with the mayor and the chief of police.

"Brown, Bruinswick, are the council members all under guard and surveillance?" he asked stabbing his cigar in the two detectives' direction.

"Yes, Sir," Brown said, his usual humor muted completely at the moment. "Not one of them complained or gave us any trouble. We have guards on every member; two teams outside, and one inside. Two teams inside in the case of Webber and Swensen."

"Electronic surveillance?"

Bruinswick answered that one. "As you know, we only have two surveillance vans available here at the PD, but we pulled in some favors, did some sweet talking and managed to arrange for three additional vehicles. Two from private detectives, and one from the FBI. Tomorrow we should be able to borrow another from the feds, and maybe one or two from Seattle or Portland. For now we have our vans covering Swensen and Webber, and the others assigned to those we felt might be higher risk because of their neighborhoods."

"Excellent. Good work, gentlemen," Simon noted, then turned to the other member of the team. "Jim, where's your shadow? You two get any information together?"

"Oh, yeah, Simon. Some interesting things have come up from this. Blair's checking out some final details, he'll join us in a few minutes, but I have most of the notes here. Okay, as Blair said before, he found three parties that all four of the victims attended, all of which were held at the homes of members of Cascade's 'high society', for lack of a better term. Though they were represented as 'parties', there was a particular agenda at the heart of each gathering. The first one was at the home of Arthur Dell, his wife threw it to raise funds to help save the old Movierama Theater downtown. Developers want to raze the old building and put up an office complex, but they're facing opposition from the historical societies, of which Mrs. Dell is a very active member. The fate of the old theater is still up in the air," he reported, pausing to shuffle through the papers again.

"What development firm is opposing the theater?" Simon asked.

"Kruse Construction, out of Spokane. But the thing is, it's not their fight, really. They would have the contract to build a new development, but Whispering Winds Development Corp, which is in turn owned by four other corporations, owns the property. We're still trying to untangle that web."

"So someone connected with the development corp would be anxious to get the city council on their side, right?" Brown asked with a pensive look.

"Yep. Or, barring that, removing members who were opposed to the demolition of the old theater," Jim agreed.

"What about the other two parties? Same purpose?" Banks asked.

"Not exactly. The second one was for the benefit of the proposed visitor's center/city park they want to erect where the old sheet metal factory is on the outskirts of town."

"I heard about that, sounds like a good plan to me. That old building, all that old machinery, it's an eyesore and a hazard. Who would be opposing that?" Bruinswick wondered.

"A company called Rook, Inc. They've made a very aggressive bid to buy the land from the Nickerson family, but the supporters of the visitor's center have found a way to block the buy from going through so far. Seems that Rook, Inc, has been given the contract to build and manage a toxic waste treatment center, and they want it on the old metalworks site," Ellison replied.

"Oh, boy. I can just imagine how much opposition THAT idea has!" Simon declared.

"Oh, yeah. That one's a hot topic. In fact, that's what the third party was about."

"Who hosted that second party?"

"Jane and Able Stanton; he's the new president of the Washington State Bank downtown, she's an attorney specializing in entertainment law. They just moved to Cascade from Beverly Hills, looking for the 'quiet life'," Jim concluded.

"Okay, who owns Rook, Inc?"

"Another conglomerate. Something like nineteen corporations listed as shareholders."

Simon sighed. "And the third party? Who hosted it?"

"The Carters, who else? Any ecological threat appears and there they are to oh-so-genteely raise a rukus about it," Ellison sneered, having had one too many unpleasant run-ins with the wealthy family.

"Ellison," Simon started to say warningly, only to be interrupted by a quick knock on the door preceding Blair Sandburg's energetic arrival.

"Sorry I'm late, but there was a lot to go through. What'd I miss?" he asked breathlessly as he sat down beside Ellison.

"I just gave them the rundown on the parties. How'd you do tracing the corporations?"

"Man, it's like playing the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, you know? But, check it out, man! Whispering Winds Development Corp, AND Rook, Inc, can both be traced back to Firestar Research and Management Company, which is owned by numerous businessmen right here in Cascade."

"You have a list of those businessmen?" Simon wanted to know.

"Of course." With a grin Sandburg handed out copies of a fairly short list of shareholders for Firestar. "As you see, all but two of them are local, and pretty well known, respected. The other corporations that Firestar is invested in are at best mildly successful, the bulk of them are inactive or actively losing money. At a glance it would seem this is a tax write off for the shareholders."

"But Rook or Whispering Winds are both in position to make large profits if things work their way, right?" Brown queried.

"Exactly. And both are dependent on the toxic waste treatment plant coming in," Blair confirmed with a nod.

"Both?" Simon put in.

"Yeah. The office building would house the business offices for the plant. They don't want them on-site, so it seems," the anthropologist put in.

"Okay, tomorrow morning I want you all in here first thing, we're going to be looking into these shareholders, we need to move fast. Good work today, people. Get some rest, I want everyone fresh and ready to put out 110% in the morning," Simon announced, ending the meeting.

Jim and Blair gathered up their jackets and trailed behind the others toward the elevators, talking quietly.

"Forensics should have the results of the tests on the clothes in the morning, if one of the shareholders in Firestar owns a business that had industrial washers, it might help focus the search," Jim said, punching the elevator button absently.

"I'll start checking out each shareholder's holdings and business activities. Most of that data is available online if you know how to look for it, though some details aren't available through…ahem…normal channels," Blair added.

"Chief, don't do anything illegal to get the information. Simon'd have your head if the case got blown due to using illegal procedures. We have ways of getting that information here, legitimately. Okay?"

"Got it, Big Guy. Nothing illegal. Go figure, a cop who doesn't want me to do something illegal. The very idea stuns me," the smaller man smirked, bringing a smile to the Sentinel's tired visage.

"Go home, Kid. Sleep. Meet you back here in the morning," Ellison said with a wave of his hand as he headed toward his vehicle.

"Gotcha," Sandburg replied opening the door of his battered 'classic'.

"Hey, Chief?"

Blair looked up from halfway into the seat of the low car.

"Thanks. You didn't exactly sign on for this much work, I know, but I really appreciate your help," Jim told him.

Blair's smile was blindingly bright even in the dim garage.

"You're welcome, man."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Captain Simon Banks made it a point to be the first to arrive for the shift each day, firmly believing the 'boss' should be the first to come in and the last to leave. So he was surprised to see Detective Ellison's computer was already on and open to the database program. He looked around for Ellison, surprised to find instead Blair Sandburg entering the Major Crime offices with a coffee cup full of steaming liquid held in one hand.

"Oh! Good morning, Simon. I hope you don't mind that I got an early start, but I found some more information online last night and wanted to cross reference it with what I'd already had, so I came in before Jim so I could get back into my database. See, I checked out the officers in some of the other corporations…" he trailed off, hands stilled in mid-motion, when Simon raised a hand.

"Hold it right there, Sandburg. Now I appreciate your efforts, but you can't just waltz in here and use our computers whenever it suits your needs. This is a police department, not your private playground. These computers can access confidential information not intended to be seen by every Tom, Dick, or Harry who wanders in," the big captain was just getting up a good head of steam when he noticed the expression on the smaller man's face.

Blair had been excited about the information he was gleaning from cross-referencing his old database and the one he had created just that morning. Flushed with the success of his research, the last thing he had expected was to be reamed by the Captain who had requested the information. Realizing that in his enthusiasm he had way overstepped his bounds his heart sank, his excitement quashed very effectively.

"I…I'm sorry, Sir. I'll just wait downstairs until Jim gets here. I didn't mean to cause a problem, it won't happen again," he all but stuttered as he backed toward the door he'd entered moments before in such high spirits.

"Sandburg, wait a minute," Banks tried to stop him, but the sound of his phone ringing distracted him. Torn between trying to smooth over the situation with his new observer and the call, which was almost certainly the chief, he turned to get the phone, mumbling about sensitive civilians under his breath.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"Idiot, idiot, idiot," Blair muttered to himself as the elevator slowly descended. "What the hell were you thinking, getting into the PD computer system without permission? You're lucky he didn't arrest your stupid ass. Geez, you'd think I'd learn." His one-person debate ended when the car stopped at the ground level and Blair got out, planning to walk around for a while until Jim arrived.

Keeping his head down and his eyes on the floor, the grad student hurried toward the exit, so engrossed in trying to be invisible he ran full tilt into a much larger body.

"Oh, sorry," he stammered looking up into familiar sky blue eyes.

"Leaving already, Chief?" Jim asked with a half smile.

"Jim! No, no, I was going to take a walk, wait for you to come in, you know. But, hey, now you're here, so we can go on up and get to work, right? Good, good, we have lots to do, you know," the smaller man babbled, turning back toward the elevators.

The Sentinel got on the elevator behind his Guide, subtly waving off the other officer who made as if to join them, then punched the button for the seventh floor.

"Okay, Sandburg, what's going on? Why were you slinking out of here like a kicked mongrel?" the detective asked, hitting the stop button and looking sternly at his companion.

Keeping his head down the grad student told Ellison about his encounter with Captain Banks, wishing he were anywhere but in that particular elevator.

"I'm sorry, man, I never meant to cause you trouble. I just didn't think, you know? I mean, the computers at the university are pretty much available for anyone to use, I just didn't consider I could get into things that could compromise the department," he concluded, looking up earnestly.

"Chief, settle down a little, it's not the end of the world. Simon doesn't know you yet, give him some time and he'll be more comfortable letting you have access to things. But in any case, I seriously doubt he was that angry. Really. There are times his bark is far worse than his bite, and early morning tends to be one of those times," Jim reassured his Guide.

"If you say so, man. But he sounded seriously pissed off."

"Chief, don't sweat it. Now come on, why were you here so early, anyway?" Jim asked hitting the button for them to continue on to the Major Crime floor.

"Oh, I did some more research at home, and I'd wanted to set up another database to cross reference, I think I found some stuff that might help," the young man reported as they strode toward Major Crime.

"I thought you were going to go home and relax, Junior," the detective commented.

"I couldn't stop thinking about the case, and other things," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper at the last, obviously referring to Jim's abilities.

"Well, why don't you go on with what you were doing, and I'll check in with Simon, we'll be meeting at nine to go over the evidence again," Ellison told him as he prodded the younger man toward the desk.

"Okay. And, Jim? I won't get into anything I'm not supposed to, honest," he told the detective.

"I know, Blair. Don't worry about it. And don't spill that coffee on my desk," he mock-growled at the grad student, getting a half smile in return. Satisfied Sandburg was no longer upset, the Sentinel knocked on the doorframe of the captain's office before stepping in and closing the door.

Banks glanced up at his visitor, then out at the bullpen, seeing Sandburg back at Ellison's desk. He met the cool blue gaze openly, holding up a hand to forestall any comment Jim might have been ready to make.

"I owe the kid an apology, I know that. He okay?" Banks asked.

"Yeah, but you spooked him pretty good. Simon, he's been busting his ass the last few days helping me out, he didn't deserve to be jumped on by you. For your own information, I ran him through the system before I even came to you with the idea of him being an observer. He's clean. Not so much as a parking ticket. The only 'blip' on his record was the notation that he'd been in and out of the country a lot, all his life. Seems his mom travels a lot, and he's gone on several expeditions since attending Rainer. Where, by the way, he is at the top of his class scholastically, and a much sought after teaching fellow," Ellison told his captain, looking out with an unconsciously proud expression at the younger man working at his desk.

"Okay, okay, the kid's a saint," Simon grumbled.

"I'd hardly call him a saint," Jim scoffed mildly. "But he does seem to be one of the good guys."

"That conversation we're going to be having about Sandburg is getting longer and longer by the minute, Jim. But for now I'm going to trust you on this, and you'd better not make me regret it," the big man said as he got up from behind his desk and opened the door. "Sandburg!"

Blair glanced up worriedly then hurried over to the captain's office, giving Jim a nervous look as he entered.

"You wanted me for something, Sim…Captain?" the young man asked.

"I may have over reacted a little this morning, but policy is clear on using the computer system for personal research. DON'T. Make sure you adhere to that policy and we won't have any problems. Now get your information together, I'll be interested in hearing what you've found out during the meeting, which commences in a half hour, gentlemen. Prepare to dazzle me," the captain ordered, shooing both men out of his office with a slight smile when he noticed the grin on Sandburg's face. He wouldn't have admitted it for anything, but he had felt ridiculously guilty about jumping on the young man earlier – like he'd kicked a cocker spaniel puppy or something - and was glad to see the kid seemed the type to bounce back quickly. He'd just have to grow a thicker skin if he was going to hang around the precinct with Ellison, they couldn't be treating their civilian observer with kid gloves.

"Hey, man, was that an apology?" Blair asked quietly, his serene demeanor belied by the gleam in his dark blue eyes.

"I'd say that's the closest you're ever going to come to hearing 'I'm sorry' from Simon, so savor it, Kid. It won't happen again in a hurry," Jim replied clapping his companion gently on the back.

"Trust me on this one man, I plan to stay on his good side. He's not someone I want pissed off at me," Sandburg insisted, holding his hands up as if in surrender.

"Good plan, Darwin. Now come on and get your act together, we have a lot of work to do today."

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

"See? If you start unraveling the tangle between the corporations it starts to become a little clearer," Blair concluded, setting down his marker and standing back to study his chart on the erasable board. They'd started off the meeting discussing the security measures, which were kicked into high gear, and the status of the surviving council members. Now Blair had been given the floor to explain the results of his research into the ownership of the corporations they suspected might be involved.

The six by three board was nearly filled with Sandburg's quick, economical printing, creating a complex web of businesses interwoven into an intricate network where shady business deals could be hidden behind the cloak of confusion. The anthropologist had circled recurring names highlighting four stockholders who not only were the officers of

Firestar Corporation but were also officers of up to six 'satellite' companies. Blair had neatly written those four most likely suspects down the far right of the board.

Nathan Silverstone.

Renee Savage.

Daniel Webber.

Blaine Knight.

"Hairboy, I thought you'd fingered Webber as a potential vic, now you're saying he may be the killer?" Brown questioned, studying the chart critically.

"Yeah, it's kind of hard to determine which side he's going to fall into, he's straddling the fence between ecological preservation as his public stand and his considerable investment in companies dependent of the toxic waste plant." Blair tapped the marker he'd used against his hand as he contemplated Brown's question.

"He would be a major target of the other stockholders if he is using his position on the council to counter the plant's approval, since it would be so financially adverse. Yet, what better cover from which to kill the council members than from the position of being on the council himself? He's definitely the top of the list of those to investigate. What about the others?" Simon was all business as he made his inquiry.

"Nathan Silverstone is the only son of Gerard Silverstone, of Silverstone Industries, which produces and distributes those small novelty toys you get for a quarter from those machines at the stores. You know the ones I mean; they come in a plastic bubble? Anyway, his dad is like the founding father of that industry, made his fortune from that. Nathan is known as a slacker and general 'cad about town', his only hobby appears to be collecting paternity suits. He's been hit with seven so far, four of those have resulted in him being identified as the father and required to pay child support," Blair read off a notepad he'd brought with him.

"Renee Savage has a very successful, very exclusive line of designer woman's wear, specifically catering to the athletic woman, with a special emphasis on those in equestrian sports. Personally she's very reclusive, the only 'society' functions she attends are various highbrow horse shows and riding events."

The grad student paused, then pushed his glasses firmly up again as he read the last notes on the potential suspects. "Blaine Knight spent most of his life working for the city, until he took an early retirement and bought the landfill. The county used to run it, but turned it private four years ago, and since then that's how he's supplemented his retirement."

"The landfill where the third victim was found," Simon added quietly.

"Yeah. That landfill. Where I've worked for the last two months," Sandburg agreed.

"What about the other officers and directors of Firestar?" Bruinswick wanted to know.

"Two of them are from out of the area. I'm not certain, but I think one of those might be related to Renee. But I couldn't find their names in any of the other corporations, and as you see, I traced their roots as thoroughly as possible," Blair replied.

"Okay, Ellison, I want you and Sandburg to concentrate on Webber, I want to know if he's a potential victim here. Bruinswick, you start looking into Savage and Silverstone. Brown, you get Knight. Have Harris do a background check on our out of town shareholders. Sandburg, this list, is it ALL shareholders, or just officers and directors?" Banks turned his attention to his new observer.

"Um, just officers and directors. But a lot of these corporations have ONLY shareholders who are officers and directors," the young man replied. "But, if you're thinking there may be more involvement than I have uncovered, well, you could be right. A list of shareholders is much harder to come by legitimately from home." He turned his innocent expression on the captain.

"Good thing Harris loves research almost as much as you do, Sandburg. We'll have him check into obtaining lists of shareholders for all the corporations. You do have a master list, right?"

"Right here, Captain Banks," Sandburg assured him, handing over a sheet of paper with the needed information.

"Gentlemen, I don't need to remind you that time is already running short. Report to me as soon as you have the information we need. Let's get to work!" With that Banks sent the men on their separate ways.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Detective James Ellison had been in the business long enough – more than long enough – to no longer be surprised or shocked by the depths to which people could sink in their search for the all-mighty dollar. But the young man sitting beside him lacked that perspective.

"Man, this is ridiculous. He had enough of everything anyone could want; a good home, wife, kids, money, cars, vacations. Prestige. And all from legitimate sources. Why would he risk everything to get more? It doesn't make sense to me."

"Come on, Chief. Haven't you ever heard of the more one has the more one wants? Besides, I suspect it's more to keep the life style, not add to it. And the risk is probably part of the attraction. He's a spoiled brat looking for some excitement in his life. But too much of a coward to do something blatant like robbing a bank or even knocking over a convenience store. Nope. Nothing that real. So he gets his cheap thrills from cheating and double crossing. Happens all the time." Ellison's voice was weary and sarcastic and sounded far older than the man himself was.

"Geez, nice world view there, Jim."

"Look, Junior, you hang around here long enough and you'll understand why I feel that way."

"Good thing they don't have you working in the recruiting department," Blair replied with a slight grin as they paused outside Simon Bank's office door.

A quick knock got them an impatient sounding "Come in."

"Captain, you wanted to be informed as soon as we had something," Jim began, sitting down and setting the file he'd been holding on the edge of the desk. "It's looks like Webber may be involved in the killings after all. He's invested a lot into four corporations besides Firestar, and all of them are losing money hand over fist. But, Sandburg here did some calculations, and IF the plant goes in it will repay those loses up to four times over in the first two years alone."

"That would certainly raise the question of why he's involved in anything opposed to the approving of the place. How badly is he hurting due to the losses so far?" Simon queried.

"It wouldn't have been too bad if his second son hadn't gotten himself into a mess of trouble. Seems young Ross Webber developed a fondness for cocaine and fast cars; three weeks past his eighteenth birthday he totaled his Porsche. They found two grams of coke in the vehicle, his blood work showed he was higher than a kite, and his seventeen-year-old girlfriend was killed. Ross suffered a broken neck, resulting in permanent paralysis from the waist down. Obviously, the medical and legal bills were astronomical, even with insurance. They managed to keep the whole situation fairly quiet, the accident happened in Los Angeles, which is where the kid still is. In rehab." Jim shook his head in disgust as he concluded his report.

"I can't believe we never heard a word of this locally. Not with Webber being a public figure and the subject of driving impaired being such a hot topic," Simon noted.

"That's what a really high priced lawyer can buy you," Jim retorted.

"But we don't think he's working alone," Blair put in, speaking for the first time. "I went back to my earlier chart and reviewed who Webber owned the various companies with, and Blaine Knight and Nathan Silverstone were the names that come up repeatedly."

Captain Banks consulted a notepad in front of him then picked up his phone. "Rhonda, please locate Brown and Bruinswick and ask them to report to my office immediately." He turned his attention to the two men in front of him. "Hopefully they are close by, I want to hear what they've uncovered so far."

The tall captain's wishes were realized when a knock at the door heralded the arrival of the other two officers who immediately sat down beside Blair and Jim, notepads and files at the ready.

Banks quickly filled in the other detectives on what Ellison and Sandburg had found out, then turned to the detective from his division first. "What do you have so far, Brown?"

"Gotta tell you, Cap'n, Blaine Knight is a man what likes to keep busy. Those corps he's involved with, they're a busy bunch, fingers in all sorts of pies all around Cascade. But none of them make much in the way of money, though from what I hear cash receipts are pretty good in most of them. Even the landfill is running in the red. I got the word from one of my snitches that Mr. Knight is a well known and a VERY frequent visitor to the Cascade Casino out on the res. And word has it that Lady Luck has not been paying him any visits recently. Some think he's paying off his gambling losses through the corporations, through dummy expenses. I did a little digging and it seems he has three local accounting offices he works with. And I'm betting that none of them know the others exist," Brown suggested, leaning back and checking over his notes one last time.

"The problem is; he hasn't done anything wrong I could even begin to prove at this point. It's just speculation and suspicion right now. As for when the kidnappings/killings took place; he had good alibis for them all. And no known problems existed between him and any of the victims. That's all I've managed so far," he concluded.

"Did you find anything that tied him especially to Councilman Daniel Webber?"

"Nothing yet, but I wasn't looking for that specifically."

"Okay." He nodded at the Homicide detective. "How about you, Stan? You had Renee Savage and Nathan Silverstone?"

"Yeah. Savage looked pretty clean, most of her holdings, outside the corp that handles her clothing business, are centered around horses. And yeah, they're losing money, but the clothing business isn't. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Still making a fortune while supporting the struggling businesses. And horse breeding, horse training, all those horse businesses, they mostly lose money, anyway. My sister tried it and ended up bankrupt; it's a brutal business and eats up the 'small operators' like crazy. Her interest in Firestar doesn't date back to the start of the corp. She bought in a year after it was formed, and was voted Secretary at that year's board meeting. Guess who she was dating at that time?" He looked around with an expectant smirk.

"Uh…Nathan Silverstone?" Blair ventured with a smile of his own.

"Give the young man a kewpie doll! Turns out it was convenient you having me check on both of them. They dated for only five months, but from what I heard it was an intense five months. We list six calls to her house for domestic disturbance, with no charges being filed in any. They were frequently featured in the society section of the newspaper, as often for their appearance at various social functions as for their public spats. Of course, part of the interest was due to the fact Renee Savage is so reclusive most of the time. This was a rare period of public appearances that had the press intrigued. But I digress. As for Nathan Silverstone, it's not a question of what shady business practices he has, but what ones he hasn't. Last year the IRS got into the act and audited one of his busier corporations. They ended up disallowing hundreds of thousands of dollars of deductions over a five-year period, assessed taxes, penalties and interest, then seized the property when the corp went belly up. He still owes nearly a quarter of a million in back taxes, and word has it the IRS is now looking at the other businesses he's involved in. So Firestar might be in the line of fire for that," Bruinswick concluded.

"Did you check his whereabouts at the time of the murders?" Jim wanted to know.

"Not yet, I hadn't thought of him as a possible suspect before this. What about Webber?"

"Nah, we didn't get that far yet, either," Jim conceded. "So that means that Knight is the only one who is not under suspicion for the actual kidnappings at the moment."

Blair had fallen quiet, his expression indicating he was deep in thought, no longer actively listening to the conversations around him. Ellison noticed the kid's preoccupation and nudged him gently in the side.

"Hey,Chief, you look like you're thinking some pretty intense thoughts there. Anything you need to share?" he prodded gently. He knew Blair wasn't happy that Blaine Knight was under suspicion; the young man obviously liked his former boss.

"Do any of these guys have a military background?" he asked abruptly.

Bruinswick looked up with a mildly disgusted look. "Silverstone? No way."

"Knight served in Viet Nam. Wounded less than a week after arrival in the country, he was honorably discharged," Brown provided.

Jim was thumbing through the paperwork they'd assembled on Webber. "No, no military training at all. Where you going with this, Sandburg?"

"These killings are not the typical work of a psycho killer, as it were. I think we may be looking for someone with a military background, preferably Special Forces sort of training."

"What gives you that idea, Sandburg?" Simon wanted to know.

"The profile of a psychotic strangler typically has a psycho-sexual pathology. You would expect to see evidence of molestation. And strangulation is a means of killing fraught with passion, something that is totally lacking from these crime scenes. Based on the forensic evidence it would appear that they were strangled from behind, military style rather than with a garrote, which would be ritualistic, or with hands which would be psycho."

"What do you mean by ritualistic? The murders were all the same, isn't that ritualistic?" Banks asked.

"Not necessarily. It could just be efficiency. Ritualistic would be like what the Thuggee Cult practiced. The name comes from the Sanskrit word sthaga, which means deceiver. The Thuggee were a Hindu sect whose members worked in small gangs in India. They murdered- usually by strangulation, robbed, and buried travelers passing through their region. The Thugs worshipped the goddess Kali, the Hindu goddess of death, and observed very strict rules in dedication to her. They even employed a secret language amongst themselves. The Thuggee cult was suppressed in the 1830's," he paused when Simon raised both hands, waving them as if washing an invisible window.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sandburg. Enough. We get the idea," the captain stressed.

"Ah, sorry Simon, I get carried away," the young man said, blushing furiously under the amused gazes sent his way.

"No kidding," Brown grinned, eliciting a round of snickers that worked as a welcome relief to the mounting tension in the room.

Impossibly, Blair's blush deepened before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Anyway, so that leaves military. The most popular method would probably be to strangle the victim from behind with a chokehold, crushing the larynx. Is that what was done?" the grad student asked his Sentinel.

"Actually, yeah. It's something we've kept from the press completely. The bright shoelaces are just 'window dressing.' The victims are dead before the laces are tied. I think you're onto something here, Chief. We need to look closer at these suspects, and their known associates, wouldn't you agree Simon?" he turned to the captain.

"Absolutely. And it time to question these gentlemen and rattle their cages just a bit, I'd say. Since you're each already well briefed on one suspect each, go ahead and interview them again, see if we can shake something loose before we lose someone else. But try not to tip our hand too much yet. If you suspect for any reason your suspect is going to do something stupid, call in for surveillance. We have carte blanche on this case; we can use a many officers as it takes. I'm going to add some more to Swensen, since he's looking good to be the next victim. Go get the bad guys," he urged his team, gratified when they all stood to hurry out. He called Ellison back in before he could leave.

Brown walked out alongside Sandburg, one meaty hand reaching out to tousle the long curls affectionately. "No wonder this grows so long, all that fertilizer inside your head," the big detective teased the smaller man.

"Fertilizer!?" the grad student squawked. "Hey, man, I'll have you know that's pure anthropological fact!" he defended, swatting good-naturedly at the officer. Brown's booming laughter faded as they went across the bullpen, Ellison and Banks watching from in front of the captain's desk.

"The kid's got some interesting ideas," Simon admitted quietly, his gaze still on the two younger men.

"You don't know the half of it, Simon. What'd you need?"

The captain's expression hardened. "Just to remind you that Sandburg is just an observer, so you watch him. I don't want any lawsuits against the precinct because the kid gets hurt. And watch yourself around Webber, he can be an obnoxious son-of-a-bitch, don't let him get your goat."

"Won't happen, Sir. I'll be on my best behavior," Ellison promised before heading out to gather up his new partner and head on out to question the councilman.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS~

Detective Jim Ellison was known to his dentist as his '401(k) patient' since every time he saw Jim the treatment usually covered his retirement contribution for the entire year. Interviews such as the one he and Sandburg suffered through with Daniel Webber were the primary cause of his dental woes. A full hour and a half of clenching his jaw over his anger would crack anyone's teeth.

The councilman was charming, erudite, self deprecating and lying through his teeth, as far as Jim was concerned. On the drive over Blair had suggested Jim try to hear the man's heart rate and respirations to see if he was nervous when talking to him. That would help pinpoint a lie, he figured, and could help the detective determine which way the interview should head. And damned if the kid's idea didn't work; too well, in fact. Webber was nervous from the moment he greeted them at the door, and with every question his unease increased to the point Jim had to turn his hearing back down.

After ninety minutes they thanked the man for his time and left him to his bodyguards, four Cascade policemen inside, and three more plus electronics outside. Plus, in Webber's case, two privately hired muscle men. It was a nice touch of authenticity, Ellison thought sardonically as they left.

"Well, man, what'd your senses tell you?" Blair asked excitedly as soon as they were settled back in Ellison's vehicle.

"His heart rate was accelerated from the moment we got there, Darwin. He was nervous when I asked him if the food at Ricardo's was good, for God's sake. He's either guilty as hell or in serious need of Prozac," the Sentinel reported, pinching the bridge of his nose before starting the truck.

"Headache again?" his Guide asked gently.

"Not too bad, Chief. This one's from clenching my teeth so much; I have to quit doing that, or so my dentist says. But, God, he set me on edge."

"He did me, too, and I'm not a Sentinel. How the hell did he ever get elected?" the younger man wondered as Ellison turned on the motor. The radio immediately squawked to life, reporting a disturbance and shots fired on Willow Drive, where Councilman Georges Swensen lived.

"Hang on Chief," Jim instructed his partner as he pulled a tight U-turn and called in their location. Less than five minutes later they arrived on the scene of controlled chaos.

"What's the situation?" Ellison asked the patrolman standing hunched just outside the front door of the spacious home.

"Gas," the young officer gasped, coughing harshly. "Goddamn gas. Almost got Swensen, but they didn't know about the extra team. Swensen's being treated, and we got one of them, he was driving. Lucky catch, really. But they still got away, in the councilman's car, no less. Sorry, Detective, this was a new method for them."

"Hey, sounds like a success to me; the councilman's still with us, and we have a kidnapper in custody. Go get yourself checked out," Jim urged the officer, sending him toward the nearby ambulance before joining his Guide on the lawn a short distance from the house.

"He okay?" the anthropologist asked, indicating the officer.

"Yeah, I think so. And Swensen's okay. Got one kidnapper in custody. Damn, how the hell are they getting so close? I'm starting to think we may have a leak in the department," the Sentinel mused.

"Anyone recognize the kidnapper?" the grad student wondered, looking around at the milling police officers and paramedics, with the press gathered behind the cordoned off area.

"Not yet, Chief, but we will find out soon enough. Let's get back to the station, this is under control here," the detective decided with a last glance around.

"Great. Look, if you don't need me for a while, I was thinking I'd run by Rainer. I need to go there some time today or tomorrow to review my schedule, if you don't need me for anything," the young man trailed off a little uncertainly.

"Not a problem, Sandburg. Look, I don't expect you to spend all day at the precinct with me; you still have your own life. Take care of whatever you need to, if you can get back to the station later that'd be helpful," Jim replied easily with a reassuring look at his unofficial partner.

"Great, man. I should be back in two, three hours at the most. I'm kind of anxious to find out about this kidnapper, you know? I mean, this just keeps getting stranger and stranger," Blair enthused as they neared the PD building.

"You said it, Buddy."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS~

Rainer University was caught in the perfect lull between the summer session just ended and the fall semester slated to start the following Monday. The campus was nearly deserted, save the occasional faculty member taking care of last minute preparations for their fall classes, and the rare student looking to get a head start on their semester.

Blair arrived to find the only person in Hargrove Hall was Shelly, the secretary, who smiled and flirted with the young man as he picked up his mail. He glanced over the missives, pleased to find everything appeared to be in order for the next week. Promising Shelly a lunch date before the end of the month, he retired to his so-called office to answer a few emails and ensure he had everything in order.

Satisfied that all was as it should be, he spent another hour making notes of what he'd observed so far in his study of James J. Ellison, Sentinel. Allowing himself to indulge in his excitement for a while, he couldn't suppress his grin at the thought of finally proving his naysayers wrong. For years now he'd faced scoffs of disdain at the mere mention of Burton's research into tribal watchmen. More than one advisor had told him to forget the fantasy and concentrate on something real, but the dream he'd carried from childhood refused to die.

And now that dream was realized.

Closing up his office, he bounded up the stairs and out the main doors, all but bouncing along, his good mood reflected in the bright and cheerful greeting he gave the two instructors who crossed his path. He was so engrossed in his thoughts of a successful future that he didn't even notice the van that pulled up beside him until he was grabbed from behind. A damp cloth was placed over his face and his struggles abruptly ceased as the chloroform took effect.

Seconds later the doors to the van closed again and the brown vehicle rolled sedately toward the exit, no one having noticed the kidnapping.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS~

The kidnapping suspect captured at Georges Swensen's house was a middle-aged man with short curly brown hair and light brown eyes. He sat sullenly at the table in the interrogation room, picking disinterestedly at the fingernails on his left hand as Stan Bruinswick and Henri Brown questioned him.

"Tell us again, Mr. Bateman, why were you in Mr. Swensen's house?" Brown asked wearily.

"I already told you three times," the man's lazy sounding voice now had added a petulant whine. "My dog Billy went in through the back door. I was just trying to find him and take him home and all hell broke loose and now Billy is missing. And I have all these dog treats and no one to give them to." He indicated his pocket where he'd had a half dozen dog biscuits.

"Mr. Bateman, there was no dog, the back door had been secure. You managed to circumvent the security somehow, and we want to know how. You're in a peck of trouble, don't make it any worse than it already is," Stan Bruinswick said, leaning closer to the cuffed prisoner.

"You didn't find Billy? But, he needs me! You can't not find him! You have to find him, he's scared to be on his own," the man argued, looking desperately between the two detectives.

In the observation room Jim paced restlessly as Simon watched the exchange between the two detectives and the suspect. "Simon, there's something…this is familiar somehow. Something I should know…Billy…a dog named Billy…" the Sentinel paced again, listening to the conversation in the room beyond without concentrating on it.

**..want to know how. You're in a peck of trouble..**

Ellison stopped and straightened up, turning an incredulous glare to the one way window. "Son of a fucking bitch!" he growled.

"What? What is it Jim?" the captain asked, turning his attention to his detective.

"He's yanking our chain, Sir. The prick is trying to put one over on us."

"Explain."

"You ever hear of the 'A-Team', Sir?"

"A TV show, back in…what?…the 80's?" Simon replied with a puzzled look.

"Exactly. It was popular, and, at the time, controversial because of its violence. I didn't watch it when it was on network TV, but a couple of years ago, I got the flu, remember?" At Simon's nod he continued. "I was stuck at home, bored out of my head, and I stumbled on this marathon of episodes of that show. Long story short, I watched about ten straight episodes of it."

"And you lived to tell about it? I remember Daryl watching it a few times, it grated on my nerves," Banks noted.

"Well, yeah, but I was sick. And it was mindless. But the thing is, I remember is the pilot on the team, Murdock, was a Section 8 case. He had an invisible dog named 'Billy' in an episode. This guy, Bateman, he's impersonating that character. I'd be willing to bet on it! And actually a fairly accurate impersonation from what I remember of the show," Jim commented with a slight frown.

Simon turned his attention back to the suspect, mulling over Ellison's observations. "So, now the question would be, are we dealing with a group who has patterned itself as the 'A-Team'? Or is he just a lone nut case? I can tell he's not going to give us any information right now. I think we should get Henri and Stan out of there, and wait to see if there are any replies to the data we sent the FBI and the military. Maybe he's on their radar," the captain decided, clapping Jim on the shoulder as he headed toward the door.

It ended up being four hours before they got a reply from the FBI regarding Michael Bateman. Ellison had just left, intending to get a late lunch and check over the scene at Swensen's house again, when two men dressed in suits that fairly screamed 'AGENTS' came into the bullpen. They strode toward Simon's closed door without so much as pausing and entered without knocking.

"Captain Banks, I understand you're in charge of the task force that captured Michael Ray Bateman earlier today?" the taller agent said without preamble.

"I am. I am also the captain of this division, a man who expects to have a closed office door respected, regardless of who or what you might be. And speaking of which, who and what are you?" the big man asked crossly.

"Agents Conway and Mathers, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Washington," the shorter agent replied as they both presented their credentials. "We'd like to see the prisoner."

"I'll have detective Brown show you to him in a moment. First I'd like to know what we're dealing with here," Banks said, indicating the two men should be seated.

"If this prisoner is Bateman, he is part of a group of four men who we believe are responsible for the deaths of as many as sixteen people in the last five years. They are all veterans, who, for reasons we have yet to determine, have modeled themselves after an old television program," Mathers explained.

"The A Team." It wasn't a question, which surprised both agents.

"You've heard of these criminals?" Conway asked sharply. "The FBI hasn't released too many details on them as yet."

"No, I didn't hear anything from the FBI on that. One of my detectives, Jim Ellison, recognized what, or rather who, Bateman was impersonating."

"It's the public memory and acceptance, even nostalgia, that has enabled this group to be so damned successful. They actually manage to find idiots willing to help them escape, believing this bunch are as harmless as the TV characters were. It's amazing, in a rather sick sort of way," Conway explained, shaking his head slightly.

Banks looked disgusted, rolling his unlit cigar between his fingers. "So you know who the other three are?" he asked.

"Yeah, we know who they are, not that it's helped much. All four served in Vietnam, though only Paul Osgood, their leader, had any special forces training. Their ploy has the virtue of being rather ironically successful," Mathers continued, with a wry look. "They actually operate like the fictional A-Team did, only it's the bad guys who hire this group, and the military isn't looking to capture them for old crimes, just the new ones. Osgood is their leader, and has been known to don disguises when needed to gather information. That's his specialty; he sets up the job, does the initial recon. Sean O'Malley is their con artist, usually working with Osgood to set things up and keep it running. Bateman is their driver, flunky, jack-of-all-trades. He is NOT a Section 8 case, by the way. However, Terrance Manfred is quite possibly heading to that. He's the muscle; almost certainly he one who actually commits the murders."

Four photographs had accompanied the descriptions, and Simon looked them over carefully, recognizing Bateman immediately. He stared at the shot of Osgood, eerily certain he'd seen the man somewhere recently, but unsure where. The other two were total strangers.

"You said they are suspected of committing sixteen murders in five years. How have they managed to elude capture for so long?" the Major Crime captain asked in a carefully neutral voice.

Both agents looked discomfited, but it was Conway who finally answered. "They're good, Banks. Damned good. And, like we said, they can get the public aiding and abetting them. I don't know how well you remember the A-Team TV show, but they were like modern day Robin Hoods, protecting the innocent, persecuting the evil and the rich, that sort of thing. They were relatively harmless, but these jokers are NOT," he snorted, indicating the four photos.

"Well, good luck with Bateman," Simon began, stopping abruptly when Jim Ellison came through the door with a colorful piece of clothing clutched in his right hand.

"Simon we…oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt, but Simon we have a problem," he announced holding the cloth up toward the captain.

"What's the problem, Detective?" Banks asked tersely.

"This is Sandburg's vest. It was on the front seat of my truck," he replied shortly. At the puzzled looks being sent his way, he sighed. "The last time I saw it he was wearing it and getting in his car to go to Rainer University. Now it's in my truck with a note attached." Using the cloth to protect from adding fingerprints he laid a slip of paper down on his Captain's desk.

"'You have what we want, we have what you want. We'll be in touch,'" Simon read. "Oh, damn. You send anyone to the University to check on him?"

"Called it in from downstairs. And I have forensics going over my truck as we speak. Dammit, I knew I should have kept the kid in sight," he sighed.

"Who's this 'Sandburg'?" Conway asked.

Ellison explained about the grad student while Simon made a couple of phone calls to check on the status of the patrol car dispatched to Rainer. He hung up just as Jim had finished.

"They found the kid's car, and recovered a rag soaked with what smells like chloroform from the parking lot. I told them to secure the scene, I'll send Rogers and Wong over to investigate, but I doubt they'll find anything," the tall captain sighed sitting back in his chair.

"I should go check over the scene as well," Jim began only to be cut off by Simon's raised hand.

"No, Jim, I need you here for when they contact us. They obviously know you're the one working with the kid, they will likely want to deal with you personally. Let Rogers and Wong do their jobs, you do yours. Keep working on the evidence we already have, maybe you'll spot something else," the captain instructed him, indicating the detective should return to his desk. When Ellison had left Banks turned again to the two FBI agents.

"Now, let's let you two have a word with our guest."

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

There was one very notable thing about being blindfolded, Blair Sandburg decided; it made it far too easy to concentrate on other things, such as how much one's body could hurt after being pummeled by kidnappers. On the plus side, at least he wasn't seeing the bruises or blood, the sight of which he was just as happy to avoid. He didn't know how long it had been since he was taken, but he guessed it had been several hours judging by how hungry and thirsty he was.

"What's the matter, Hippie? You faw down and hurt yourself?" a voice taunted him, as a boot clad foot planted itself painfully in his ribs; with his hands tightly bound behind his back he was unable to protect himself. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? Had to stick your little Jew nose in where it wasn't wanted or needed. Well, maybe this will teach you better manners. Not that you'll ever have a chance to exercise them. Still, one should not die ignorant, should they?" Another kick, this one to his thigh, punctuated the comment.

The voice was familiar, unpleasantly so, and the young man struggled to place it, thinking it was someone he'd met recently. As his tormenter wandered away again, Blair used the resultant peace to work backwards through the people he'd met in the last few days; ruling out all of them almost as soon as he thought of them. Until his memory stumbled across one person, and if he was a character in a cartoon a light bulb would have clicked on above his head. Of course, now it made sense. An ugly, hateful sense, but sense nonetheless.

Jasper McConnel.

But why would the Homicide detective be in cahoots with whomever it was killing the council members? Grateful to have something to distract him from the pain the cop had so gleefully inflicted on this body, Sandburg mentally reviewed the information regarding the businesses involved, certain he'd not seen McConnel's name anywhere. So, was the detective simply hired protection? An insider to protect the operation? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask. In most of the movies and television shows he'd seen the bad guy was always anxious to explain their 'brilliant' plan to their victim.

"Hey, McConnel, where do you fit into all this?" he asked casually, flinching when he heard the heavy footsteps rapidly approaching his spot. This time the cop targeted the student's vulnerable right knee and the younger man howled at the intense pain as it was brutally dislocated. A thick-fingered hand grabbed his hair and jerked his head back painfully.

"You think you're so damned smart, don't you?" the big man sneered at his helpless captive. "You and your theories and your ideas, trying to play with the big boys. Well, this is what happens when you go poking into things best left alone." Another kick to his exposed ribs brought a breathless gasp of pain from the anthropologist.

"Still, since you're paying the price, I guess it's only fair you get what you wanted," the detective continued. "I'm in it for the money; nothing more, nothing less. Just good old American greenbacks. Didn't even have to do much, just report back to Webber what the findings were on the case. Then you had to show up and get Ellison all riled up, just what the hell did you have to do to get him so protective of you? You his new bed buddy or something? Heh, maybe that's it. You screwing Ellison, huh?" For a change of pace McConnel stomped down on Sandburg's ankle, the same leg as the injured knee.

Blair fought to control his breathing, his right leg a mass of fiery agony from hip to foot. He was incapable of responding to McConnel's allegations, not that he thought it would do any good anyway. The detective did not strike the anthropologist as being reasonable or open to discussion.

"I can see how a faggot might be attracted to you," Jasper continued, tipping Blair's face up with an almost gentle touch to his chin. "Yeah, you're prettier than some women I know. Still, having him whine to Banks, then having Banks whine to my captain – that was more than inconvenient. And with the forced days off I couldn't keep track of who was covering whom, what sorts of procedures were being followed. And so Bateman got caught. Messy. So now we have to get him back, and that's where you come in, Mr. Sandburg," he sneered derisively, running the top of his boot along Sandburg's left leg, enjoying the grad student's attempts to move away.

"What're you doing to him?" a new voice demanded. Blair straightened suddenly, instinctively turning toward the sound even though he was blindfolded.

"Just letting him know who's in charge," McConnel replied sulkily.

"And that would be me, right?" Blair noted a hint of a southern accent in the soft voice; an accent that almost, but not quite, hid the steel underneath.

"For now," Jasper agreed, reluctantly. "But Jewboy and I had some unfinished business."

"It's finished now, capisce?"

"Yeah, yeah, capisce, capisce."

"Good. In a few hours Sean's going to make the call; we can make the exchange at noon. After that you can have the hostage for whatever fun and games you want. But until then I need him coherent and conscious."

"Fine Osgood, I can wait a few more hours. Hear that Blair-boy? You'll have to wait a while, but we will be resuming our discussion. Something to look forward to, right?" With a final sharp slap to the young man's face the detective's heavy footfalls faded away along with the other man's, leaving the student alone for the moment.

Sandburg curled in on himself, lying on his right side, breathing harshly as his body was suffused with pain from a half dozen places. Trying to calm himself, he brought up a mental image of his Sentinel, unable to stem the thought that somehow his tribal guardian would rescue him.

Oh, please, God, let Jim rescue him.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS~

"Ellison." The ring of his cell phone was a welcome distraction to the Sentinel as he sat at his desk. He hadn't left since finding his Guide's vest the previous afternoon; his only rest had been a few quick catnaps at his desk between going over the case again and again in hopes of seeing something different.

"Jim?" the voice was shaky and weak, but obviously Sandburg.

"Blair? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I have what you want. Care to make a trade?" asked a new voice on the phone.

"What did you have in mind?" Jim countered, signaling frantically at Simon who immediately called for a trace.

"Let's not play games, Detective. I have Blair Sandburg. You have Michael Bateman. Bring him to the old metal-works factory at noon if you ever want to see your observer alive again. Come one, come all, I really don't care. But the only ones I had better see in the open are you and Mike. Anyone else will be shot without hesitation. If you don't show, I'll figure you don't mind if a grad student dies a slow and extremely painful death. Your choice detective. See you then, or not." There was the distinctive click of a phone being hung up.

Frustrated, Ellison turned off his cell phone with unnecessary vigor, just barely refraining from throwing it across the bullpen. Simon had come to stand by his detective's desk and recognized Jim's effort at control.

"I can assume that was the kidnappers?" he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

"Oh, yeah. The usual: bring Bateman to the old metal plant, exchange for Sandburg, no one in sight, no show the kid will be killed slowly. The usual." Jim's expression told Simon more than he wanted to know about how much the young man already meant to his best detective. God help the kidnappers if they harmed Sandburg.

"Okay, we need to get people in position now, we don't have much time to work with. From what I remember of the place, it's pretty open, so we'll have to have your backup fairly distant. I'm going to have Rhonda assemble the task force again, meanwhile, I need you to write down exactly what they said, and anything else you might have noticed about the call.

Banks hurried off to organize the operation, leaving Jim staring at a blank sheet of paper and trying to organize his thoughts. It was a matter of only a few minutes to write a transcript of what was said, including noting no unusual background noises. With a feeling of pending doom he typed it up himself, knowing Simon would have Rhonda working on assembling officers for the proposed exchange.

Finished, he printed it out and took it over to the captain's assistant, waiting patiently until she finished a phone call.

"Ah, Detective Ellison, thank you. Captain Banks has called for a strategy meeting in twenty minutes, I'll make copies for that. Oh, I keep getting distracted. This came for you earlier today," Rhonda said, handing over a sheet of paper with the distinctive codes from their fax machine on the top of the page.

"Thanks," Jim replied distractedly as he glanced over the sheet. It was the list of customers the supplier of laundry detergent had promised; Ellison had forgotten about it completely in the wake of recent events. Now he scanned the list eagerly, looking for anything, anyone, who looked familiar. On the second pass through he got lucky.

He was still cross checking his information when Simon Banks approached his desk to remind him of the meeting that would be starting in five minutes. Ellison looked up with an expression of dawning hope and the spark that indicated the former covert ops ranger was ready for action.

"I think I have something here, Simon. We may have finally gotten a decent break."

"What have you got?" the captain queried as he sat on the corner of his detective's desk.

"Might be where they hold the bodies, and if that is the case, might be where they are holding Sandburg. Guess we should let everyone hear about this, right?" Ellison replied, gathering up his paperwork and standing.

"We're meeting in Conference Room Four," Simon agreed, ushering Jim out toward the hallway.

The conference room was full when they arrived, the quiet conversations coming to a halt at their appearance. Simon took his place at the head of the long table, immediately drawing everyone's attention to him. This case was so high profile now all divisions were familiar with the basics, and all were anxious to bring the killers to justice.

"Okay, listen up. Yesterday afternoon police observer, Blair Sandburg, who is working with Detective Ellison, was kidnapped. Approximately a half hour ago the kidnappers called to arrange an exchange of the prisoner taken at Georges Swensen's home for Sandburg. As you are all well aware, we do not negotiate such exchanges. This meeting is to set up a plan to capture the kidnappers when they attempt the 'exchange', preferably without harming Sandburg. But first, Detective Ellison has come up with some new information. Jim?" He turned to the detective standing to the right rear of his seat.

"Forensics identified a detergent used to launder each victim's clothing, and we requested a list of customers from the local supplier of the particular detergent. It's a commercial brand, not commonly sold in grocery stores. This morning I received the fax of that list, and recognized one of the customers listed." The Sentinel glanced at the papers in his hand, checking his information one last time.

"Knight's Services is a corporation owned by Blaine Knight, one of the suspects in this case. This particular business is housed in a renovated warehouse downtown. He rents out space to other businesses that need storage space, or a location to run a large piece of equipment. Consequently there are a number of freezer units, refrigerators, and industrial washers and dryers set up in this building, spread over three floors and a basement. Sounds to me like a good place to store a kidnap victim, a dead body, and to wash the victim's clothes. I think it's worth a look at least," he concluded.

"I agree. Ellison, you're in charge of that, with Bruinswick's assistance. Take half the officers and search the premises. I'll call Judge Abrams to arrange the search warrant right now. Brown, take the other half this team and set up a surveillance of the exchange point at the old metal plant. Ellison can brief you before he goes. Move it people, this is the best break we've had yet, and I want this case solved!" Banks stood and strode quickly to the door, intent on getting the needed search warrant, as the rest of the officers stood ready to be assigned to whatever tasks needed to be done.

Thirty minutes later Ellison, armed with a search warrant, and his team approached the warehouse driving unmarked cars. Per their plan, half the officers took up positions watching the exits while the rest entered the large building. Moving quickly and quietly they spread out to the three floors, with Jim taking the lead on the team going into the basement. They had seen the blueprints for the building, and knew the basement was deep, with thick walls and a supporting grid of beams and pillars. Searching it would be time consuming, but at least there was only one exit, which was easily guarded.

At some point in the buildings long history they had added walls between many of the pillars, creating small rooms within the large area, and many of those contained pieces of machinery and equipment, creating a plethora of hiding places. Before they had a chance to disburse, Ellison held up a hand to signal his team to stay still.

Under the guise of looking at a copy of the blueprints, Ellison tried what Sandburg had him do the night they discovered Pinero's body and stretched out his hearing to locate heartbeats. Ignoring the ones clumped behind him, he located four…no, five…heartbeats at the south end of the building. Bringing his hearing back down with an effort, he signaled his team to approach from different angles, indicating the area where he'd heard the heartbeats. Thankfully no one seemed inclined to question his directions.

They were almost to the entrance of the room where three of the heartbeats were centered when a large African American man strode out, only to duck back in at the sight of the officers.

"This is the Cascade Police. You're surrounded; come out with your hands up," Jim called out, accompanied by the sound of a dozen weapons being cocked.

A shot fired blindly was his answer, as the officers ducked into other rooms. Not really in the mood to waste time with negotiations, Ellison tersely ordered a young officer to shoot a gas bomb through the flimsy wall to drive the suspects out.

Two of the three men staggered out, dropping their weapons harmlessly to the floor, before lying face down. Three officers started forward to secure the prisoners before Ellison could shout a warning.

The third man was waiting for just this chance, and opened fire on the approaching officers, firing through the open door blindly. One officer retreated uninjured, while another took two rounds to the bullet-proof vest, knocking him out cold. The third officer was hit in the arm before finding cover. The two suspects who'd surrendered suddenly leapt up in a vain escape attempt, one ending up shot by Ellison, the other knocked unconscious when he ran by a concealed officer. The third man, Terrance Manfred based on the descriptions they'd been given, refused to be driven from the room.

"Come on in and try and get me, suckas!" the big man bawled out at the waiting policemen. "I got enough bullets for each and every one of ya!"

Frustrated, and with the uneasy feeling that they were missing something important, Ellison concentrated his hearing inside the room Manfred was holed up in, locating him in the near corner.

"Manfred, I have a gun trained on your back. If you don't come out in five seconds, I'll consider you as resisting arrest and will act accordingly and use any method needed to bring you in," Jim called out clearly.

"Do what you want, I don't believe your bluff," Manfred called back.

With a mental shrug he pulled the trigger, hearing the suspect's grunt of pain as the bullet found it's mark.

"Son of a fucking bitch! You bastard!" Terrance yelled out, pain obvious in his voice.

"You come out with your hands up and we'll get you some medical help. Stay there and I may have to shoot again," Ellison countered.

"I'm coming out." Moments later the large man walked out holding his hands away from his body, blood staining the lower right side of his camouflage shirt.

With the three suspects subdued and restrained, Ellison turned the situation over to Bruinswick and stepped away from the milling crowd. He was certain he'd heard five heartbeats to start with, so he carefully stretched out his hearing again until he located the other two in an area to the north of where he was.

Keeping his hearing trained on the stronger beat, the former covert ops ranger stealthily approached the room, pausing silently outside when he heard the click of a gun being cocked over the din of some sort of machinery working in the room. He had a strong feeling that he had to hurry if he wanted to find his Guide alive, so deciding to go with the odds, he threw himself into a roll on the floor, coming up firing at the figure in the middle of the room.

His bullet struck Detective Jasper McConnel high in the left shoulder, as the Homicide detectives return shot went high and wide. Shocked as he was by finding the Homicide detective involved in this mess, Jim quickly regrouped, taking cover behind a row of washing machines.

"Give it up, McConnel, you have nowhere to go," Ellison advised him, listening carefully for the other man's movements.

"Ellison, you have been a thorn in my side from the day I met you. Putting a bullet in you will be a pleasure," Jasper countered, pain obvious in his voice. "In any case, you're too late to help that hippie freak who was hanging around. That was fun, too; he's remarkably easy to terrorize."

Forcing himself to remain calm, Jim considered the situation. They were both stuck crouched at opposite ends of the row of machines, with no way to approach the other without rendering himself vulnerable. The Sentinel's gaze fell on the large circular mirror mounted in the far corner of the room, showing clearly McConnel's position at the end of the machines. Looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, he noticed a discarded box of powdered detergent, a bottle of liquid detergent, and some plastic laundry bags along with other assorted laundry supplies. An idea quickly formed in the detective's mind, as he pulled the basket of supplies toward him.

Working quickly, and keeping a wary eye on McConnel in the mirror, Ellison filled one corner of a laundry bag with liquid detergent then carefully tied it off. He repeated the procedure once again, using powdered soap. Watching his adversary carefully, he quickly stood and threw the bag of liquid soap as hard as he could against the machine behind Jasper's hiding spot. It burst on contact, spraying the Homicide detective with the slippery green liquid.

"Christ, Ellison, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he complained as he tried to wipe off the offensive liquid.

As soon as McConnel was distracted by the soap, Ellison cut loose with his second 'bomb', sending the powder over the other man's position. As he had hoped, it got in McConnel's eyes, effectively blinding him. Unable to defend himself any longer, it was a matter of moments for Ellison to subdue and cuff the other man.

With his adversary down, the Sentinel finally had a chance to look around for his missing Guide. The large room was lined with industrial size washers and dryers, all front loading. One washer along the back wall was running, and Jim caught a flash of a pale hand through the glass door.

"Jesus! Hold on Blair, I'll get you out," Jim exclaimed, trying to wrench up the lever but finding he couldn't with the machine in operation. Thankfully the unit was plugged in an outlet above the washer, so it was just a matter of Ellison pulling the plug to stop the machine. With the power cut the door opened easily enough, disgorging warm water and one very wet grad student. Sandburg gasped and coughed harshly, spitting out water and struggling to get his breath back.

"I need a medic in here!" Ellison called out as he carefully unbound the younger man's hands and checked him over for injuries. "You with me here, Chief?"

The glassy blue eyes of the anthropologist struggled to focus on the Sentinel, as surprisingly strong hands gripped the older man's forearms. "Oh, God, Jim! He put me in that washer. He just shoved me in there and turned it on…I couldn't breathe, I couldn't get out. It kept spinning, and spinning, and I couldn't breathe. Oh, man, I'm never doing laundry again."

"It's okay, Chief. You're okay, settle down, okay? Come on, Kid, it's all over now," he tried to soothe the younger man, surprised by the wave of protectiveness that enveloped him, and the rage he felt at the injuries he found on the smaller body.

Blair made an obvious effort to calm himself, then looked up at his new friend with barely disguised awe. "Thanks for finding me in time, Jim."

"Not a problem, Junior. Thanks for not getting yourself dead. Here're the paramedics, they'll take good care of you, so behave yourself," the big man teased gently as he laid the younger man down on the floor. He stood nearby and watched as they tended his friend, until they loaded him on a stretcher for a trip to Cascade General.

Content his Guide was being cared for; Jim Ellison turned his attention back to cleaning up the case and putting the killers where they belonged.

EPILOG:

"God, Jim, what a week it's been!" Captain Simon Banks sighed as he sat back in his chair. "Between the FBI, Webber's lawyers, Silverstone's lawyers, and IA I'm surprised I haven't shot anyone yet."

"I know what you mean, Simon. I was talking to Stan Bruinswick earlier today and he said the Homicide division is still rocking from the news of McConnel's involvement with the murders. You heard the story about why, right?"

"Oh, yeah, being blackmailed by Silverstone, who found out about McConnel's affair with Captain Jones' wife. You have to admit, that sounds like something from one of those cheap paperbacks you can get at the airport or train station," Simon grinned.

"Yeah, well, truth is stranger than fiction and all that. And with Jones resigning, it does make one wonder just what was going on."

"They're talking about Flannigan for the vacant Captain's spot. He'd be a good choice to bring that division back to normal. Speaking of normal, which leads one to think of abnormal, how's your new observer? They released him from the hospital, right?"

"Yeah. Ordered him to a couple days of complete rest. I checked in on him yesterday, he's doing pretty good. It'll be a couple of weeks before his knee feels much better, but the ribs were just cracked, not broken. He looks like five miles of unpaved highway, but for the most part he should heal up quick," Ellison reported.

"Is he coming back?"

"I don't know, Simon. He got pretty banged up, it may have put him off on that particular dissertation subject," Jim said quietly. He didn't know what he would do if the younger man didn't come back, he still needed help with his senses. Uncomfortable with that train of thought he changed the subject abruptly. "What'd the FBI decide to do?"

"The 'A-Team' will be turned over to the FBI with the agreement that they will stand trial for the murders here when the others are on trial. I don't know all the specifics, but I understand all parties are satisfied. As for the rest, Councilman Daniel Webber was the catalyst behind everything-he wanted to recoup the money he spent taking care of his son before he was of retirement age. Nathan Silverstone joined him willingly enough, mostly for kicks, and for the money. He was the one who called in the killers and bankrolled it. Blaine Knight was blackmailed due to his gambling problems, he just provided the locations, he didn't have anything to do with the actual kidnappings or murders. None of the other shareholders or officers were involved." Simon rolled his unlit cigar between his fingers as he reflected on the case. "Webber was stupid enough to keep records of the whole mess, and Silverstone and Knight were more than happy to roll over on him after he implicated them. I can guess they will all be going down for a good long spell."

"And all this so the council vote on the toxic waste plant would be in their favor," Jim noted with obvious disgust.

"You know how it goes, Jim. Almost all crime narrows down to greed of some sort or another. By the way, you did some great work on this case. And I'm not the only one who noticed," Banks commented.

"Just doing my job, Simon. Just glad these assholes are off the street. Now to catch the other two thousand criminals out there," the Sentinel sighed, levering himself to his feet.

"Jim, it's Friday afternoon," his captain reminded him. "You won't catch them all before the weekend."

"Gee, thanks for the reminder, Sir. How about I just finish some reports, then call it a week?" the detective asked mock seriously.

"Get out of here, Jim. Have a good weekend; relax. You earned it," Simon dismissed him with a languid wave of his hand.

Chuckling to himself, Ellison headed toward his desk only to come to a halt when a now familiar figure came through the door, crutches obviously not slowing him down at all.

"Chief, I thought you were supposed to be home resting," he chided the younger man gently.

"Ah, man, I'm tired of resting. I thought I come by here, I got my schedule, see, and we could go over when I can work with you here. And maybe you need some help with reports or something? I mean, until classes start Monday I'm pretty free, we could even do some tests to start determining your baseline abilities. We need to document where you are now so we can start stretching the limits of your senses. Did all the suspects get cleaned up on the Strangler case? What'd the FBI decide?" Sandburg stopped abruptly as Jim held up a hand.

"Whoa Junior, slow down, breathe," Ellison advised, smiling at the younger man's abashed expression. "I'm glad to see you. I wasn't sure you'd want to come back after what happened."

"What? Oh, man, you're kidding, right? I mean, come on. How many times am I likely to be kidnapped? It was a fluke," Blair grinned at the detective, his eyes shining with renewed humor and enthusiasm.

"It's not like it's ever going to happen to me again."

The End.


End file.
